Counterblow
by Clez
Summary: When the past comes back to strike at County General, three members of staff are caught in the sights of one man's vengeance and madness...
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Hey there, Clez here. This will be my first _ER_ fiction, so you'll have to excuse any… crap-ness, okay? XD I've loved the show for years, but a plot-bunny only just pinned me down. Anyway, hope you like, and keep your eyes open for an update pretty soon, muses willing, heh. A friend of mine is checking this over for me, also, and I know her as **endlesscalamity**; this is simply because I'm a Brit, and have only seen a few episodes of Season 11, where this is set, so she's checking that sort of stuff for me. Imagine this as being set somewhere around _'Try Carter'_ and _'Fear_. Thanks!

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE: ****PROLOGUE**

"Well don't look at _me_! Why does everyone look at _me_?"

Running her hands over her face, she sighed into her palms, and calmed her fraying nerves before dropping them to her sides again, and then using them to emphasise as she said, "Look, I never implied it was you; you're jumping to conclusions." Of course, what she didn't need to tell him was that she herself had indeed reached a conclusion by jumping to it… but sharing that knowledge would only have him snapping in her face. It was quickly becoming something she liked very little, if at all.

"Yeah, right," he grumbled sarcastically, snatching the chart off the bed's end and scanning it. "You know this isn't my patient, right?"

Abigail Lockhart narrowed her eyes as her companion lowered the stiff board, and their eyes met. "What?" she muttered after a moment, reaching for the chart herself to take a second look, before he whirled it to her quickly.

"_That_ is not my patient. _This_–" – he tapped the board with a finger – "is not my handwriting, as you well know, Lockhart."

Abby sighed, flustered and frustrated, her bangs drifting across her face and cheeks before she shrugged her arms out wide. "Well then whose is it?" She certainly didn't recognise it, and had assumed it was his because she'd seen him by this patient's bedside several times during the shift… of course, that could have had something to do with the 'hot' young woman laying in it; luckily unconscious.

A loud dispute by the desk not thirty feet from them turned their heads simultaneously, and they watched for a few moments as two people apparently squabbled over one thing or another.

"Why don't you ask Morris?" Ray Barnett inquired, offering the chart to her somewhat roughly. A little sheepish, she took it, and the two of them strode over to where Archie Morris was trying to pull something away from Jerry, who was at least twice his size… and possessed at _least_ twice the brainpower. Easily, the larger man swatted at Morris, and batted him away, eliciting a rather whiny yelp from the redhead, who saw Abby and Ray gazing at him darkly; he practically withered.

_What a glorious example of manhood this guy is_, Abby mused idly as she beckoned him over with the chart. Impishly, he conceded, but not before he'd attempted to offer Jerry a scathing glare. Needless to say, he shrugged it off, and went back to eating whatever it was Morris had tried to get him to 'share'.

"Hey, Morris…" she began almost sweetly, "… you wouldn't have given Miss Waterman penicillin, would you?"

The skittish intern gazed from the silent Ray, to the inquisitive Abby, only realising who they were talking about when the former nodded his head towards the prone form of the woman. "Oh, yeah. How come?"

Abby twirled the chart, and thrust it in his face, nearly shoving him backwards. "And would you, by _any_ chance, know how to _read_?"

"What do you mean?" he fumbled, scanning over the paper to try and find his mistake.

"She's allergic to penicillin, Morris," Ray said, jabbing at the chart with a pen he'd pulled out of Abby's pocket over her shoulder, possibly so he didn't have to move any closer to the fellow intern they were berating. "You're lucky she's not suing your ass. How about you check over the charts, huh?"

"Well I know I wasn't the only one checking something _other_ than her chart, Barnett," Morris objected somewhat meekly, but with a little more fervour than when he'd responded to Abby, she noticed.

Before anything could happen to embarrass either of them – not to mention _her_ – she put herself firmly between them, and locked eyes with the shorter of the two before her. "You think you can handle this mess on your own, or do you need a babysitter?"

Morris was blissfully silent for all of twenty seconds, before he muttered about his being fine, and then trudged away, back to Miss Waterman's bedside to see how much of a mistake he'd made. Taking her eyes away from him then, and promptly rolling them, she muttered to herself, "It's amazing he made it through the first years of medical school." Louder, she added, "How did he make such a stupid little mistake?"

Ray shrugged under his punk t-shirt and white coat, pulling his stethoscope from around his neck and holding it in his hands. "He's Morris?" he offered bluntly, making Abby crack a smile and nod approvingly.

"Good point." Her amusement of this fact lasted only a short while as the doors just about burst open with a gurney and the paramedics. Without so much as exchanging glances, the two interns sprung into action.

* * *

With the shift drawing to a close, she cast her eyes to the board again, gazing over the various styles of swift handwriting and signatures, too tired and sore to really make anything of it. She had an almighty throbbing behind her eyes and through her temples, and all she wanted to do was get back to a couch or a bed… and collapse on it for about ten hours. She'd been non-stop for about nine as it was, and just wanted to sit down; her feet – though used to long runs – were aching something chronic, and to be blunt, it was making her cranky. Muttering to herself, she rested her forehead on her hand again, looking down at the paper she had been working on when a tall figure loomed over her.

Samantha Taggart turned her weary head upwards, too lethargic to return Luka Kovac's affectionate grin. Normally his enthusiasm was infectious; but not tonight it seemed. She was just too tired, and it didn't show any signs of letting up.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, leaning on the admin desk to be more at her level, something she was grateful for given it got her directly out of line with the lights, lessening the migraine somewhat. "You look exhausted."

"Well, then I look how I feel," she quipped dryly and with little in the way of humour, or even sarcasm… for once. Alex was going to give her so much more to worry about when she got home.

Wait…

"Did you pick Alex up from soccer?"

Luka nodded, his dark hair bouncing lightly against his masculine brow for a moment, even as he gestured over his shoulder to where the ten year old was slouched unhealthily in a waiting room chair, next to a man nodding his head to something pounding down his earphones and through his skull. Relief washed through Sam; she'd forgotten all about him until now.

"Why don't you get your things and come back to my place? I'll make you guys some dinner, and you can stay the night if you like."

Persistence was one of the traits that made the man so charming… and annoying at times. She smiled regardless, wishing she could just collapse into his embrace at that moment. If it weren't for the small stack of things to do, she would have taken him up on his offer; as it was she was forced to say, "I can't, Luka. I've got a good hour or two left of my shift, and look at what I have to do." Shaking her head with a loud and unimpressed sigh, she added quietly, "New interns always give me such a migraine…"

Luka quirked a brow, smirking very discreetly, before he heard bickering down the hall, as did the nurse who leaned over the desk. Sam rolled her normally-bright eyes and slumped back to her feet, which protested from the teasing relief. "They've been at it pretty much all day before you ask."

Luka watched Abby and Ray stride past swiftly, debating over the results of a CAT-scan or something of the like. He chuckled softly, and shook his head slowly. "Come on, Sam… tell Carter you're finishing early."

Laughing very briefly, she looked up at him. He was unbelievable at times. "No, I _can't_. We're understaffed as it is. I can't leave Haleh with all of this; it's not fair."

"And it's not fair for you," he began, reaching over to stroke a curled layer of hair from her face, "to work if you're not well."

"Luka… it's just a headache."

"You said so yourself; it's a migraine."

If she wasn't falling deeper in love with him at that moment, she would have snapped her pen and thrown both parts at him in frustration. "I'm not checking out early because of a headache."

"Migraine."

"Whatever."

Luka cocked his head almost pleadingly to one side. "If you don't tell him, I will."

Jabbing her pen at him, she protested, "You will not. Now, can you take care of Alex for me 'til my shift ends? I'll call you when I'm done, okay?"

Sighing lightly, as if in defeat, he nodded, smiling handsomely for a moment, before leaning over to place a soft and brief kiss on her forehead. "Don't work too hard."

As he turned and walked away, she mumbled to herself, "Always do…"

* * *

Luka strode through the door after punching the switch, and walked up to Alex, who looked up at him almost expectantly before turning his gaze to his mother through the glass. "Mom isn't coming?"

"No, she has to finish her shift." Luka smiled regardless, and picked up Alex's duffel from the floor next to the boy's seat. "Come on; let's go back to my place. We can grab a pizza on the way home."

"Again?" Alex laughed quietly as he slid from his seat. "Mom'd kill me if she knew I was eating all this junk food."

Luka looked conspiratorially down at Alex, before saying slyly, "Well, what she doesn't know won't hurt her." Alex grinned lightly, before the two of them headed out, passing a pacing man who was constantly muttering to himself. Luka gave him a fleeting glance, before ducking out the door with his charge.

* * *

Dodging around a trolley as an orderly came around the corner, Ray looked to Lockhart again, shaking his head; why did she always have to challenge him on everything? It was like she was intentionally out to make him look stupid.

"You're just not seeing it from my point of view," he said to her sharply.

"No, I'm not, which is a good thing; I have my own opinion," was her fast response and she gestured very slightly with a hand, meeting his gaze for just a moment before looking where she was going again. The shift had gone rather quiet, save for the minor cases in the waiting room out front, and Ray was thankful for that; he was tired for a change, and even though the call room wasn't the best place to crash, he considered going up to the roof for a while after he'd finished. Maybe playing some guitar before relaxing would calm him down. He was more than a little stressed… and he was very close to simply blaming the other intern at his side.

"Just think about it for a minute," he suggested.

She laughed, shrugging. "Come on, I've _thought_ about it already, and I think you're wrong."

Ray practically snorted, nearly running into _another_ orderly with a slight grumble and a fleeting gaze in their direction to show his irritation. They almost smiled at him, before carrying on, and he had to jog to catch up with the shorter woman. He decided to drop the subject; it wasn't that important anyway, he supposed.

_Unless you're **that** bothered about being right… which you are_. He cleared his throat, lifting his hands to toy with the stethoscope about his neck before looking to Abby, and muttering, "… Fine."

Lockhart looked discreetly triumphant, a fact which aggravated Ray somewhat, but he'd promised himself he'd let it go… so he had to. He wasn't going to go back on his – internal or otherwise – word now, no matter how much it tempted him. He was too tired to debate anyway.

_I need some coffee or something._ There was still an hour left of the shift; he'd have to make a run to the lounge. He had a feeling that, were he to sit down, he'd fall asleep not long after, and that would be embarrassing to say the least. He gave a brief thought to asking Lockhart if she wanted a coffee as well, before the somewhat childish realisation of her winning the 'argument' came back to him, and he reconsidered it. Shaking it off, he looked around, realising they'd pretty much walked in a complete circuit around the _ER_, as impressive as that was. "Do you know where we're going?" he finally asked, impatient and realising his feet were starting to protest at the extensive travelling. They were passing Curtain Three again, and he furrowed his brow, looking to Lockhart and she gazed to him.

"I don't know where _you're _going, but I need a coffee; so, the lounge."

"We already passed the lounge," he informed her somewhat bluntly, rolling his eyes. "Why didn't you stop _then_?"

Abby simply shrugged, ending the silly conversation there, and Ray ran his hands over his face, giving a light groan. "Fine. Coffee it is."

As they came up towards the desk again, they passed Sam, who looked about ready to let her head slam down to the surface with a thud… which would be counterproductive to say the least. Abby halted, making Ray practically skid to a stop just afterwards with a curse muttered under his breath. Jerry chuckled, and Ray offered him the lightest of glares before coming up to the desk once again, pretending he'd never blundered, even as Abby asked, "You okay?"

The nurse lifted her head from the papers she was working on, and quirked a brow at the two of them. "Yeah… just tired. Why?"

"You look…"

"… Exhausted?"

Abby nodded, as Ray shoved his hands in the pocket of his jeans, shifting back his white coat as he did so, making it easier. He watched with feigned interest, not really paying too much attention.

"Yeah… you're not the only one who's said that. But I've got all these to finish, and I'm not going 'til they're done." Sam Taggart was stubborn to say the least… but Ray could relate with that, so he let it slide.

"Well, you want a coffee?"

Ray turned his eyes to the waiting room, at the minor cases who were still seated impatiently beyond the barricade door. He heard the light coughs and disputes from where he stood, and his eyes were drawn to a pacing figure in the background, who ran his hands over his balding head every now and again, his mouth moving in such a way that made it seem he were talking to himself. Ray narrowed his eyes, cocking his head when the man gazed in his direction. His pacing ceased, and he seemed to freeze for a few moments, before tearing his attention away, and returning to his almost nervous action.

Ray shrugged lightly, and turned his head back to the women as Sam agreed to a strong coffee, before Abby took off towards the lounge. Ray sighed, and gave chase, not trusting her to make his coffee without doing something to it, whether it be something as minor as too much – or little – sugar, or worse…


	2. Uninvited

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! All such a wonderful comfort :) Well, here's the second part. Hope you like it; it starts to pick up in this chapter, short though it may be. I usually don't like making them this 'short', but I reached the point where I wanted to end it, so… I had to end it, heh. This is the point where – if need be – I have reviewer acknowledgements. Feel free to skip them, and I'll try to keep it brief XD Thanks again to **endlesscalamity** for checking this for me.

**Goody:** Heh, hi again. Thanks for dropping by. You've got some good instincts; you'll find out soon enough if you're right or not. Thanks very much for the comment about my fics; I appreciate it.

**Lady Piper1:** Sam is one of my favourite characters :) Expect to see more of her.

**LXGFanGirl** Thanks very much! Glad you enjoy them :) And distractions from homework – as annoying as they end up being – are goooood o.O

**total**** vaughn lover:** Thanks very much! You have no idea how comforted I was regarding your comment about Sam and Abby. Big relief. Glad you like.

Anyway, enough of that… oh! Apart from to say, I keep email update lists for all my fics, and if you leave a signed review and have an email address in your account bio, I add it to the list; force of habit. If you don't want this to happen, let me know – no worries – or alternatively, if you don't have an email already in your bio but would _like _the update notifications, drop me a line XD Thanks.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO: UNINVITED**

Tipping some sugar into his claimed mug, he looked to Abby, who held her own in both hands before remembering Sam's, and turning to the bench to pick it up from where she'd left it. Ray set down the sugar, and quirked a brow as she balanced the mugs quickly, asking lightly, "Got those?"

"Yeah, but you can grab the door."

Ray gave a single nod, quite tempted to see if there was anything to eat in the fridge before shrugging it off; he'd get something later. Opening the door for Lockhart, he let her out before following her back over to the desk. Jerry watched them approach, his eyes saying it all; 'where's mine'. Ray simply smirked, even as his companion offered the nurse her mug. Sam looked to it gratefully, and accepted it with a heartfelt, though weary, "Thanks."

Abby smiled lightly, glancing around, before picking a chart out of the – for once – sparse rack and gazing it over. Ray leaned against the desk, sipping at the coffee and pulling a slight face as he gazed over the patients in the waiting area beyond the doors. The coffee tasted a little off, and he set it down on the other side of the desk, suddenly no longer interested in it. Jerry watched him, as if ready to pounce on the caffeinated beverage, but Ray simply shrugged at him, showing him he didn't care for it anymore. The pacing individual was still on the other side of the doors, near the entrance, but Ray found watching him made him dizzy… for obvious reasons.

"Abby, Ray… you're obviously spare," John Carter announced as he came pacing briskly down the hall in his trademark green scrubs. "Make yourselves useful, huh? Get rid of the teenagers in Exam Three."

Ray opened his mouth to protest, but he snapped it shut when he received an elbow to the ribs from Lockhart, who nodded, and practically dragged her fellow intern away from the desk. Carter smiled at the two with a chuckle, before checking over the charts, and then pulling down the board to scribble something on it.

"Why do we always get these kinda jobs? We're interns, not orderlies."

"Orderlies can't discharge patients, Ray," Lockhart sighed, still carrying her coffee, but she quickly set it down on the nurse's station as they passed it. Chuny gazed at it with a furrowed brow, before shrugging it off and going back to her work.

"You know what I mean."

"It's not like we were doing anything else, and you know how Carter hates people standing around."

Ray rolled his eyes, giving a sigh as they reached Exam Three, and pushed into the room, seeing the teenagers within… as rowdy as they seemed to be.

"Hey!" Abby exclaimed when she saw one in the headlock of another, and she moved to break them apart. Ray cocked his head, and then realised he should help, darting forward and practically yanking them away from one another. Some imaginative, colourful curses flew back and forth, indecipherable between the laughing of one of the others. Ray let go of one of the boys, and gently pushed the other one away, saying, "Take it easy. We don't want any of that in here, all right?"

Before the teen could protest, Abby cut in loudly, declaring that they were all free to leave… not that it was a choice, Ray knew. The kids had been shoved in here because they were crude and obnoxious and were getting in the way. There was a reason they used this room for a kind of isolation. "Go on, get," Abby nudged hastily, waving for the door.

Aggravated though they seemed to be, the group soon made for the door, taking their jackets and belongings with them. They'd come in because of a fight within their group – it was a little too generous to title it a gang – and one had had a broken nose; it had been treated and finished an hour ago, but Ray guessed they had slipped from everyone's memories until this moment, when Carter had come calling. As the last of them slipped out of the room, Ray looked around, and pulled a face, groaning; they'd left a mess. Glancing to his companion, he saw her crouch as if to pick some of the items from the floor.

"What're you doing? Leave it."

Abby actually laughed and looked up at him with disbelief. "_What_? Why?"

"Because–"

"It's not our _job_?" Abby shook her head. "You're unbelievable. One day, someone's going to do you a huge favour, and you won't know what to do."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he returned darkly, taken aback by her snapping tone. She didn't grace him with a response, simply indicated the state of the floor as a silent but forceful hint that he help. Shoulders slumping slightly, with one glance at his watch, he realised the shift was almost over… and so, reluctantly and internally grouching, he conceded.

* * *

Glancing miserably into the coffee cup – which now merely contained cold dregs – Sam gave a sigh, and turned her wrist to see her watch-face.

_Half an hour… why is it crawling, dammit?_

Lowering her brown eyes to her papers again, the writing made little sense to her, and she practically slammed down her pen with a huff of exhaustion, dragging her fingers through her blonde hair, even as Jerry leaned back in his chair, opening his mouth to comment or inquire.

"I'm fine, and I know; I look exhausted. I can take a hint." She was all prepared to go grab her coat, and tell Carter she was leaving early – it wasn't as if they were busy anyway, save for the follow-ups – when she heard the doors hiss open. Automatically, she tensed as if for an emergency, but simply narrowed her eyes when a large man walked in briskly, and seemingly with purpose. He ignored the desk, and to her recollection… he hadn't been in before. She certainly couldn't remember dealing with him, and one glance at Jerry proved he hadn't either. The large receptionist shrugged indifferently, and so, with a sigh, Sam took it upon herself to pursue and discover his intentions.

"Excuse me? Sir?" she called gently but loudly towards him, receiving nothing in the way of response for her troubles. It only served to increase the frustration her migraine had brought with it, and she quickened her pace. "Excuse me? _Sir_? Hello?"

He ignored her; either that or he was deaf, or at least impaired similarly. He showed no signs whatsoever of hearing or acknowledging her, and that was enough to tempt her to tackle the guy… but she'd probably only bounce off. The guy wasn't exactly small. He was close on six foot, with broad shoulders and torso, and some power in his limbs from the looks of it. If she were more judgemental, Sam would have considered him capable of muggings or something of the like, which required strength and muscle.

"_Excuse_ me?" Sam was close to reaching the end of her cool – what little of it she had left – and she was seconds away from calling someone from security to remove him if he didn't stop. "Sir!"

She only really closed the distance noticeably when the man reached a door, and with a simple glance over his shoulder – so he _had_ noticed her – pushed himself inside. "Hey! Sir, you can't just barge in!" she declared, following him briskly, and letting the door swing closed behind her. She was surprised to see Abby and Ray still in the room, in the middle of the floor, apparently having just tidied some sort of mess, but continued as if uninterrupted, "You have to check by the desk before you can–"

When the man whirled to her and grabbed her arm, she made to fight him off. Ray made to move forward, but was quickly stopped when the large man practically hurled Sam into the male intern. Luckily, he effectively caught her and himself before they were knocked to the floor, and Abby watched with wide, perplexed eyes. Ray's green eyes turned quickly to the stranger, anger flashing in them.

"What the hell–?"

The three stopped short, stunned into silence, when the man removed something from his jacket, dark, fierce eyes fixed on them. The barrel of the gun was aimed squarely at Ray's chest, before it drifted to briefly target Abby and Sam in turn, and in a gruff, English accent, lulled though it was, he growled, "That'll be enough questions…"


	3. Nostalgia

**Author's Note:** So sorry for the wait o.O Didn't mean to do that to you after leaving you on a cliff-hanger, but you know how it goes, heh. Anyway, hope you like the new chapter, and thanks to _everyone_ who reviewed chapter two! XD Thanks to **endlesscalamity** as always!

**striker20:** Thanks for the pointer… never know though XD

**Mellaithwen:** Ray is the new intern, played by Shane West.

**Goody:** You have no idea how comforting and flattering your review was… thank you, really.

**Total Vaughn Lover:** _"Did you really have to leave a cliff hanger like this?"_ – yes, yes I did… hope I saved your soul in time O.o

**Citrus Rain:** Thanks very much!

**MJ Rosemary:** Y'know… when I went to a convention, I asked two actors that very same question… they were stumped XD But it was a priceless Kodak moment.

**Since I live in ****England****, I have, to date, only just seen _'An Intern's Guide To The Galaxy'_, and as a result, would really appreciate no spoilers beyond this point in reviews. Thank you kindly XD**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE: NOSTALGIA**

Alex was just about to throw the game controller at the back of Luka's head when he realised his mom would probably kick him for concussing her boyfriend, and so, he refrained. It was just… why did he have to be so _good_ at these? Kids were supposed to be better at computer games, weren't they? Luka seemed to be the exception to that rule, annoyingly enough, considering he was the only one Alex played this game with, and therefore… he usually lost.

The cooling remains of the pizza sat on the table between them, ignored now for the rough competition of the game, as pointless as it was; Alex was old enough to know when he was losing. It didn't mean he had to _like_ it, but he could tell he was too far behind to pull up for victory now; Luka had beaten him again.

As the all too familiar _'Game Over'_ flashed up on his half of the screen, he screwed up his face in irritation, and declared bluntly, "This game's stupid."

Luka laughed lightly, looking to him. "That's not what you said when I asked what you wanted to play."

"Yeah, well that was before you beat me five times in a row."

"Six."

"No it was not!" he declared in a challenge. "It was five."

"Okay," Luka agreed all too quickly, making Alex think he was lying through his teeth to him, just to make him shut up. Scowling lightly, he looked back at the screen, where the options for a new game showed. He hesitated, and then put the controller down beside him.

"Don't you want to play another game?" his older companion asked curiously. Alex's shake of the head was all he needed as a response, and he stood to deactivate the console, returning the television to its normal state, where the news was playing.

"What time is it?" the child asked bluntly, looking meaningfully at the remote. One of the few lessons in manners he remembered was never to take command of the TV in someone else's house unless they offered it to you first; not that he would be against taking over and changing the channels, but to do it without consent would be… rude.

Luka checked his watch, moving back over to the couch, taking the remote in his hand as he did so. "It's coming up for… half past nine."

Alex furrowed his brow lightly, and slouched casually in the cushions. "I thought mom was gonna call when she finished. Do you think she took a cab or something?"

Luka looked somewhat pensive and withdrawn for a moment, before he handed Alex the remote, and tapped the face of his watch, perhaps to check its motion. He looked to the news moments before Alex switched it over, and muttered something to himself. "Her shift probably ran later than expected. I'll call the hospital and see what's keeping her." He stood from the couch. "Want anything to drink while I'm up?"

Alex turned from the show he'd switched to, and nodded vaguely, wondering what was keeping his mother; he wasn't one to worry unnecessarily, and he was sure she had a good reason for being kept late, but sometimes, he couldn't help but puzzle over these things.

* * *

Jerry was busy spinning in his chair to occupy his time when the phone rang, and – simply for something to do – he just about pounced on it, greeting the caller as cheerily as he could manage, faking it for the most part; covering his boredom.

"Jerry, it's Dr. Kovac."

"Oh, hey, Dr. Kovac. Um… did you wanna speak to Carter? 'Cause he just went to check out some x-rays… I think. It's pretty slow." Jerry swung his chair back and forth, careful not to tangle himself as he glanced down the corridor.

"I was actually wondering if I could speak to Sam. Or did she already leave?"

Jerry shook his head, and nearly slapped himself when he realised the other participant in the conversation couldn't see his action, before saying, "No, she hasn't left yet. I haven't seen her in a while, so she probably just got caught up in something." He picked up a pencil idly and twirled it in his fingers as he waited for any kind of continuation from the doctor on the other end of the phone.

Dr. Kovac was quiet for a while, before Jerry heard him sigh, and then eventually say, "All right. Tell her to call me when you see her, can you?"

"Sure thing. That all?"

"Yes, thank you." With that, the line cut off, and Jerry glanced at the phone for a moment, wondering why no one said 'bye' anymore, before setting it down, and spinning in his chair carefully again.

* * *

Abby's heart raced in her chest, but she kept her posture and expression as calm as possible lest the man see her internal panic and fear betrayed, and try to exploit it. She stayed right where she was, not moving a muscle or even blinking in case she startled him… and the last thing she wanted was for him to squeeze that trigger in surprise. Regardless of it switching targets between the three staff members every thirty seconds or so, she didn't doubt he'd hit at least _one_ of them. Abby, at that moment, didn't realise how close the three of them were standing in relation to one another, almost as if they were subconsciously huddling for protection from the danger, but she made no move to change it. Sam's eyes were a little wider now that she'd seen and registered the gun, and she was still almost leaning against Ray, as if in disbelief that she had a weapon pointed at her sporadically… and not to mention suddenly. Ray himself was breathing a little swifter, but he was remaining calm on the outside, from what Abby could see and tell. His eyes were fixed on the man, and she saw in his gaze that he was trying to think of something to say or do.

_Don't play the hero_, she thought to herself in regards to her fellow doctor. She could see it in the subtle tensing of his posture; if he made a move, she would take it upon herself to stop him. She didn't want anybody to get hurt at all, let alone shot. As she looked back to the man, she couldn't help but wonder why his face reminded her of something, or someone… why was he familiar, if only very slightly?

Everyone was silent and motionless, and the tension was getting to her; a few more minutes, and she wouldn't be able to take it, she knew, but she couldn't very well blurt out all her questions and risk getting herself – or others – injured. That would be careless and irresponsible, and if nothing else, she was still trying to improve on those areas after the last few years; as much of a rollercoaster as it had been.

"How many doors are there to this room?" the man asked darkly in little more than a growl, his strong gaze shifting between them, waiting impatiently and expectantly for an answer from one of the three.

When no one else moved to speak – the male among them perhaps not trusting himself to – Abby did, saying, "Two."

"Where's the other one?" As it was, the man was standing with his back to the first after entering.

Abby turned her head slowly, and looked towards the door, saying simply, "Over there," before her eyes focused back on the armed man once more. He nodded slowly, fixing his gaze almost solidly on her before asking another question.

"Can they be secured? And if you lie to me…"

"You'll shoot me, yes," Abby said simply but lacking sarcasm or cheek. She was blunt and to the point, but respectful and submissive without going overboard. "They can be locked."

There was a long pause wherein nothing happened, before the man's eyes widened briefly and he snapped in a low tone, "Then _lock_ them!" As Abby made to move, the man trained his weapon on Ray and Sam, saying threateningly, "And if you run, or attract attention, I'll spread one of them across the back wall."

Abby paused for only a moment before moving to do as she was told. Of course, she would be lying if she told herself she wasn't even the slightest bit tempted to make some sort of move to signal someone outside the room, but she seriously was not ready – nor did she think she ever wanted to be – to see someone shot critically, as she believed this man would do with either Ray or Sam if she did as her urges told her.

Moving first to the rear door of the room, she – in a moment of absentmindedness – checked the door over, and when she located the lock, used it, reluctantly moving away and then travelling steadily and cautiously to the other side of the room. The man with the gun twisted to the side somewhat to able himself to see all three of them as Abby locked the front entrance. After she had achieved this task, she turned back to him, and simply stood there, before he practically barked, "Move back over there."

Without so much as a nod, she did as she was told, coming to stand beside Ray once again; she threw him a 'don't you dare' look as she crossed in front of him, seeing the intent in his light eyes. She knew without asking that he wanted to act on some inner instinct, in which he could play the hero and win… after all, Ray liked winning, Abby had noticed. But even though she could find him slimy and opportunistic from time to time, she didn't want to have to go through trying to patch him up, or watch him dying. She didn't think she could take that… it would be too much.

"Now then… everybody just play along, and this won't get too messy," the man grumbled in an accent Abby placed as cockney; Londoner. It tickled her memory briefly, but she shook it off, and placed it only as confusion with the incident. "I don't necessarily want to have to use this, but I won't hesitate either."

Ray shifted slightly on his feet, letting Sam move to his other side, before he pulled in a breath and carefully asked in a calm tone, "What's your name?"

"What's it matter?" he snapped back, dark eyes turning completely to the tall male intern. To his credit, Ray did not flinch under that hard gaze; simply stood there, resolute.

"It doesn't, really… just curious." Ray did not move much, and Abby appreciated that. She didn't doubt that any sudden or unwelcome moves would result in the sharp pulling of that trigger and an imminent crisis. After all, Exam Three wasn't exactly a trauma haven… treating a gunshot wound in here would be difficult, at best.

The broad brow of the man knitted and furrowed heavily as he scanned his gaze over Ray, perhaps searching for some kind of deceit or intention. When he obviously found none, he jabbed the gun's barrel in Abby's direction lightly and lightly offered, "Why don't you ask her?"

Ray tilted his head in confusion, looking down at Abby, who opened and closed her mouth, narrowed her eyes and then muttered, "Excuse me?"

"Oh, that's right… weren't important; you don't remember. I get it." He chuckled bitterly, and aimed the gun at the female intern, before Ray stupidly planted himself between the barrel and its target.

"Hey, c'mon, calm down… she doesn't remember you, man." Though his tone was cautious and light, Abby detected that telltale irritation and conflict there, and was sorely tempted to slap Ray round the back of the head… he was pushing it. To her right, Sam was stoic, but clearly terrified; Abby looked to her, trying to appear reassuring, but she could only imagine what the nurse was experiencing in her mind, where she was no doubt thinking of Alex and Luka. "What's your name? Maybe it'd help," Ray continued warily, hands aloft slightly to show he wasn't trying to be a threat.

The sheer contempt on the man's face at his being challenged did not go unnoticed, but he did not act on it, even as he replied, "Fine, if she's gonna play dumb with me." After a moment or two, he said clearly and with venom, "Steve Atkin."

Abby narrowed her eyes thoughtfully… that name…

"Wife was Celia Atkin… _was_…" Looking to the man showed the slight shimmering of tears brimming in his eyes, and Abby was immediately on alert; emotions could control actions. She had seen it before, and was not eager to see it again, at least not in these circumstances.

"Came in here after a robbery. Some bastard shot her… she _died_ here! She _died_, and you didn't save her!"

Every part of Abby wanted to groan; a flash of memory tore through her mind, but it was only brief and somewhat clouded. Blonde, curly hair… blue eyes, fogged with agony… the faintest scent of perfume and a floral shirt. Celia Atkin… she had arrested in Trauma One. She'd never even made it to surgery before Carter had called it.

"No… you didn't save her, did you?" Another acidic laugh tore from the man and he shook his head with a dangerous smirk. "Course you didn't… what was she to people like you? Didn't have a job or kids; didn't have anything to live for, 'eh? She weren't important!"

Ray had moved back very slightly, and coming up beside him again showed Abby something she didn't think she ever wanted to see… there was a flash of fear in his eyes. Ray was afraid… _Ray Barnett_ was frightened.

"Why save some miserable cow like her, 'eh? Nah, doesn't matter… don't give a shit, that's why!"

"Please, sir, she was badly woun–" Abby started before he interrupted sharply and harshly.

"Shut your mouth! I remember you, oh yeah… you were there, at my side, trying to tell me all about it." His accusing gaze had turned viciously on Abby now, and her heart leapt in her chest, racing just that little bit faster. "Trying to comfort me as my wife's heart slowly stopped…yeah… it was bullshit, all of it. You just wanted to move us along… patch 'em up and move 'em along; it's all you lot ever do!"

Abby was hoping deep inside that his somewhat raised voice would attract attention, but she could hear the hustle and bustle outside the room overcoming the tension of near-silence within. No one could hear…

"Yeah, well… it ain't fair, and it ain't right. You're supposed to _help_ people!" He almost shook with anger and the memory of his loss now, and Abby honestly felt for him… she did not, however, support his actions now; mourning or otherwise, he had a gun on them. "You're _doctors_!" Shaking his head, his lips turned up into just the slightest of eerie smiles that made Abby's blood run cold at once. "You don't understand… none of you understand…"

The hammer on the gun cocked back, and all three reacted in their own ways: Sam gave a shudder and clamped her eyes closed; Ray shifted very slightly, but otherwise remained still, though his breathing had quickened, evidenced by the movement of his chest; Abby drew in a deep, almost readying breath.

"I'll _make_ you understand…"

The gun barrel lifted.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	4. Contaminated Minds

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the reviews on Chapter Three. Much appreciated as always! Once again, thanks to **endlesscalamity** on this one; don't know where I'd be without her reassurance O.o And, in reference to this chapter… don't hurt me?

**Samyo** Remember what I said about spoilers…? I made Atkins up. His first name is my uncle's name, and his last name is from someone I work with XD

**Mellaithwen:** Oh _do_ I…? Thanks, about the picture.

**total**** vaughn lover:** You'll get used to my cliff-hangers… or at least you should XD I'm very fond of them. Glad you liked the little touch.

**Bobbyboots** Thanks for the compliment; I'm flattered :)

**goldenshadows** My favourites too, believe it or not XD

**No spoilers beyond _'An Intern's Guide to the Galaxy',_ please. Thanks!**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR: CONTAMINATED MINDS**

"Wait…"

Ray internally kicked himself. He should keep quiet, he knew… quiet and submissive… but he couldn't. Despite his behaviour, the two women either side of him were friends, and he couldn't let this happen; he wouldn't. He had to do something – _anything_ – to stop it. He knew he wasn't the best when it came to conversation and talking in general, but he could try.

"Mr. Atkin… we don't understand what you're going through; you're right, but… think about what you're doing." Subconsciously, he had moved forward, slowly and only a fraction, but it was a definite movement, and one he registered as wrong only when it was too late to back down again. "Think about this… you've got a gun; you've got the power here, and we don't… we don't." Trying to calm his nerves, as fraying as they were, he did it again… he moved forward. He heard Abby's hiss of warning, but foolishly paid it no heed. So far, the man wasn't reacting, and that was somewhat promising, it only slightly. "I'm sorry for your loss, I am–"

"No you're not…"

"Yes, I _am_… now, you don't have to believe that, but I'm sorry she died. But you have to understand… we can't save everyone. We do everything we can, but sometimes… it just… it just doesn't help. But that doesn't mean we don't try, and they did; I know they did. _She_ tried." He indicated Abby behind him. "She tried to help you when you were going through something nobody should ever have to experience, but she was there for you…"

Without really thinking, he looked the man straight in the eye, and added, "She helped you… let her go."

* * *

Abby's eyes widened very slightly, and briefly, she looked to an equally surprised Sam, but both women remained silent. Inside, she couldn't believe what Ray had just said, and was trying to do… for her. He was being selfless, and while she did not condone his moving forward to take the man's focus, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and grateful for his attempt. Though she had a feeling she knew what was coming.

"She ain't going anywhere." The voice was slightly shaky, but it was gruff and to the point; Ray had tried, but he had failed.

* * *

_Worth a shot… okay, worst pun of the year._

Ray nodded slowly. He scrambled in his mind to try and think of what he could do, some smaller part of him wondering why he was trying; this man was crazy. He'd gone over the edge inside of himself, and the loss of his wife had driven him from sanity. "All right… but, she couldn't have done much other than what she did." Cocking his head slightly, and knowing he'd have to apologise later, he added, "She's a nurse. So's she…" A brief indication behind him made the eyes turn momentarily to Sam, before Ray pressed on, "They're not doctors. Doctors are the ones who worked on your wife, and… they couldn't save her."

Inside, something screamed at him to shut up, for his words seemed provocative, when he was only trying to make Atkin forget about Abby and Sam. Of course, when the man chuckled darkly, he almost frowned.

"Nurse?" The gun lifted to target him again, and his hands rose to his sides a little more, showing he was unarmed. "I can see the white coat; I can see the stethoscope; she ain't no nurse. Not anymore, anyway." Looking somewhat mockingly to Abby, he quipped, "Get a promotion?"

Ray didn't know what else he could say, or do… he was standing there, a good three or four feet in front of Sam and Abby, and too close to Atkin for his own liking all of a sudden, with no one to blame but himself.

When the intimidating gaze turned back in his direction, he almost flinched, but refrained. "So you think doctors are the ones I should blame? Shouldn't blame the nurses?" A look of – feigned or otherwise – consideration crossed the lined, pale face before he spoke again, "And you're a doctor right?" His eyes dropped to Ray's chest, to the white coat where his name was stitched and his badge displayed his identity. "Barnett… Dr. Barnett."

Ray's heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest as he stood there under the man's scrutiny, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to shy back and stand with Abby and Sam once again… but he'd stupidly moved forward, and he regretted nothing more at that moment. Atkin looked to Abby, and then to Sam; Ray noticed his analysis of Sam was only ever brief and fleeting, and he supposed he should be thankful for that. Maybe his words had narrowed the field at least, and if anyone could be spared, he thought it should be the parent out of the three; Sam had a kid to think about, and look after.

"Well, Dr. Barnett…" Atkin began, eyes scanning over the floor for a moment, "I've had a think."

Ray quirked a brow for a moment, his hands dropping ever so slowly to his sides again as the pause hung heavily in the air.

"I've had a think, and I've come to a conclusion." Shrugging a little, the gun barrel lowered, and Ray was briefly confused; for some reason, he wasn't convinced.

"I think you're right, _Doctor_ Barnett."

And with that, the gun came up in a flash, and a bullet exploded from the barrel.

* * *

Glancing once around him as he stood at the desk, he scanned the charts in the rack, and chewed lightly on his bottom lip. Eyes gazing to the board that he'd lowered, he furrowed his brow… some of those patients hadn't been shifted for a while, and a few details hadn't changed in… almost an hour. Cocking his head, he turned to Jerry, and then glanced all around.

"Where's Sam? She head out?" Part of John wanted to be annoyed that the nurse hadn't run it by him first, but merely looking at her earlier had proved she was in some sort of discomfort; headache of some sort.

"Last I saw she was chasing some guy down the hall." Jerry pointed loosely over his shoulder as he kept his eyes fixed on the illuminated computer screen. "Haven't seen her in a while; maybe she got caught up in somethin'."

John nodded slowly, putting the charts back in the rack, and noticing an almost full – and cold – coffee on the desk near Jerry; it obviously wasn't his, or he'd have drank it already. "What about Abby and Ray? Did they get rid of those kids?"

"Yeah, they left a while ago. Thankfully." Still, Jerry's eyes did not leave the screen.

When Susan Lewis came up beside John pulling on her coat, he gave her a brief smile and a nod before persisting, "And did they come back? These may be minor cases but they could see some of them in spare time. The board hasn't changed in over half an hour."

Jerry's brow furrowed; either something on the screen had him puzzled, or he was thinking over what the doctor had just said. "Haven't seen 'em since you sent them off. Probably wandering the halls bickering again."

Susan smiled briefly, checking over the board and sighing in dissatisfaction. John shrugged, and opened his mouth to say something when he nearly jumped a foot into the air; the sound of a thunderous gunshot tore through the hallway to his ears, and his eyes widened at once, even as a few of the patients screamed on reflex, and started looking around for the wielder.

"Sh… what the _hell _was that?" Susan was breathing heavily and almost in a panicked manner, looking to John. "Where did that come from?"

"A gun… someone's got a gun," John managed to say after a while, and moving out from the desk, motioning to Chuny and Haleh to try and calm down the hysterical patients, he glanced down the corridor. "And it sounded like came from down there…" His eyes narrowed, and then widened; the trauma rooms and Exam Three were down that hall. Looking hurriedly back to Jerry – who had now most definitely torn his gaze from the screen – he demanded, "Which way did Sam go?"

"Um… down there…" A point of one finger indicated the corridor John had feared.

John looked grim, he knew. "Dammit…"

"What is it?" Susan hadn't left his side for more than an instant, and she turned her eyes to him as he stood there, staring down the hall.

"Exam Three… I sent Abby and Ray to Exam Three." A glance to his fellow doctor showed him she understood, and he saw the concern in her eyes that no doubt mirrored his own. Warily, he began walking down the corridor, telling people to clear out as he went… just in case. He was only too aware of the dangers of their job; he had experienced them first-hand… he knew what could happen.

He knew all too well, and walking down that corridor towards that room proved to be an unpleasant reminder of seeing Lucy Knight from the ground where he had lay bleeding, stabbed in the back by a patient… a patient who had killed Lucy.

_Snap out of it_. Giving his head a brief shake, he moved ever closer to Exam Three, his feet carrying him slowly and nervously.

* * *

Sam screamed; she couldn't help it. She covered her mouth with her hands seconds later, cutting it short, and muffling it at the same time, even as her wide brown eyes saw it happen. The explosion from the gun had been so sudden that Abby had nearly jumped clean out of her skin, covering her head on instinct to protect a vulnerable area. She'd even given an abrupt shout of terror and shock.

But when she'd seen Ray react to the shot, a dread she had never before felt tore through her like a bolt of electricity. He was nearly thrown clean backwards, and somehow managed to stay upright for a few seconds, until his knees gave out on him, and he fell to them heavily with a cry. One hand immediately went to his side, and Sam could hear his ragged, traumatised breathing. Steve Atkin kept the gun trained on the male intern the whole time, despite his being clearly wounded.

Abby pulled her head out from under her arm, and cursed at once, making to move forward quickly, when the gun snapped in her direction. She halted at once, eyes wide and questioning, almost disbelieving.

"Ah, none of that…" The chuckle made Sam shiver; she couldn't tear her eyes from Ray as he panted… and even as she watched, red soaked into the white of his coat. He was bleeding… and in horror, she watched that patch slowly but surely spread… he was badly hurt. "Seven minutes."

"What…?" Abby's voice was stammered almost as she shook her head in confusion. "Seven minutes?"

"Ambulance didn't come for seven minutes," Atkin clarified. "In other words…" His eyes turned down to Ray, "… _Help_ didn't come for seven minutes."

"Oh my god… you can't do that…"

Sam looked to Abby, every fibre of her being wanted to drop at the male intern's side and help him. But with that gun ready to change targets, she couldn't risk it… for Alex's sake, she couldn't. Without a father, he could still get on with his life normally; after all, his father wasn't dead, just delinquent. Without a mother… she didn't even want to think about it.

"I can… and I will." Atkin's ferocity was clear in his voice, as was his determination. He looked back down at Ray almost chidingly. "See, we're having a little re-enactment, you could say…"

Sam's eyes subconsciously travelled down to gaze at her wristwatch… seven minutes… it was insane. Ray was bleeding, from a shot to the lower right abdomen, and he needed treatment.

He didn't need it in seven minutes… he needed it _now_.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	5. Seven Minutes and Counting

**Author's Note:** Sorry to have kept you guys in suspense, but… it's kinda what I do… don't hurt me?

**Goody:** Not sure I know what '_H/c_' means, but I have a fair idea… _'Hurt/comfort'_? I thank you very much for your kind words, as always. A pleasure to get your reviews; a delight to read.

**Andi-Black: **Cliff-hangers are like my non-lethal crack XD Hehehe… ahem.

**fc2001:** Thanks! My favourites too :) Or, at least, three of them; so many to choose from O.O

**Samyo:** Again, sorry if I annoyed you. I've put a further detail to which episode I've seen to clear things up.

**Sawyer Fan:** Buddy! XD Good to see you. What, could you _smell_ the angst? Is that what led you here? Heheheh. Either way, glad to have you along, and thanks for the review.

**total vaughn lover:** Thanks! I'm glad you think I write Ray really well; that's very much a comfort to me. Thanks also, regarding the Carter addition where he thinks about Lucy; it just seemed right to me, that he would do that. Glad you liked it.

**Bobbyboots:** I'm afraid I haven't seen RING XD My apologies.

**Mel:** Congratulations! You're the first – and from what I could tell _only_ – one to pick up on my tip-of-the-hat-cum-homage to _Third Watch_ XD You have no idea how pleasantly surprised I was to see someone spot that, but yes… it was where it came from, but I didn't really realise I'd mimicked it until it had been written, heh. Thanks!

**Mellaithwen:** Y'know what? I'm taking that as a flattering compliment. Thanks!

**The last episode shown here in ****Britain****, to me, was _'11.06: Time of Death'_; the episode with Ray Liotta playing a dying alcoholic. I greatly appreciate restraint when it comes to spoilers beyond this point. Thanks!**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE: SEVEN MINUTES AND COUNTING**

Ray panted, looking down to his hand covering his side, and watched it tremble slightly, biting off an agonised curse as a fine sweat broke out across his brow. His eyes turned upward, narrowed, to Atkin, who was staring down at him, until gazing to Abby and Sam behind him. Closing his eyes, Ray bowed his head down again; he'd heard the seven minute wait comment, and while he understood the man's urge to make what he saw as the 'devils' in this situation suffer, he knew he was going to be in trouble if Abby and Sam couldn't treat him as soon as humanly possible.

In other words… before that seven minutes ticked by.

Hissing through gritted teeth, he felt the sticky warmth against his hand, making the ring on his index finger loose, but he ignored it. He didn't give a damn about the stupid ring right now; he just didn't want to bleed to death in this room. He fought to steady his breathing, trying to go through all manner of procedures and advice – his own or others', it didn't matter – in his head, but it was a jumble at that point in time, his body probably still recovering from the initial shock of the hit itself.

"Abby? Sam?"

Ray's eyes lifted from the ground, confusion on his face as he looked towards the door. He knew that voice… he'd heard it time and time again; had the speaker right in his face about a form… Carter! It was Carter…

"Shut up," Atkin snapped at once in a hiss to the two women, and looked warningly down at Ray as well.

_Like I was gonna say anything… okay, might've done._

"Nobody say's a word, 'cept me. Anybody says anythin'…" The gun pointed down at Ray again, and the male intern averted his gaze and even closed his eyes. If he was going to get shot in the head or face, he'd rather not see it coming. "Well then that seven minutes'll count for nothin', won't it?"

"Abby?" Carter called cautiously from outside again, his voice slightly muffled through the glass. Atkin, without turning from the door, adjusted the cover on the window to block any view from outside, and did the same with the window accordingly, effectively shutting off the room.

"Please, sir, let me talk to him; let him know–"

"Two things, 'Abby'," Atkin began almost mockingly, pronouncing her name emphatically. "First, learn when to keep your bloody mouth shut. Second; don't call me sir, 'cause you don't mean it."

Abby heeded the warning, and fell silent. If she gestured, Ray didn't see, only now opening his eyes again, finding them heavy. He gave his head the briefest of sharp shakes to try and keep himself alert, and pressed his hand tighter to his side to keep the pressure against the wound.

"Five and a half minutes," Atkin noted, glancing indifferently to his watch. Eyeing the women on the other side of the room, he repeated, "_I'll_ be doin' the talkin'. You two stay quiet, and then when the time's up, you can treat Dr. Barnett here." A brief indication with the gun unnecessarily reminded them of Ray kneeling on the floor, shoulders slumped slightly now with his head still bowed over.

_Should've kept my damn mouth shut…_

"Now… what's that guy's name?"

* * *

Susan Lewis tread softly beside Carter, almost as if she were afraid to make any noise. A large part of her screamed inside for her to step back, and move away. She had a child to think of, not to mention Chuck. Every single fibre in her being was on end, as if electrified, and she waited with bated breath for something to happen… anything break the tension and let her know her staff was okay.

"Carter? John Carter?"

She nearly leapt two feet in the air when the gruff voice from inside Exam Three called outward, through the – she guessed secured – door. Carter blinked beside her, and nodded, before closing his eyes and calling in return, "Yes, that's me; I'm John Carter."

There was silence, as if the man within hadn't thought beyond his confirmation point. Carter glanced to Susan, who shrugged, feeling a little too useless for her liking. Perhaps she should go back to the desk…

"Door's locked, so don't bother tryin' to come in," came the next comment, projected enough so they could hear every syllable, lazy or otherwise. Susan listened to the accent; he was English. Of that, she was certain, but right now, she couldn't decipher it further, and quickly decided it didn't – or shouldn't – matter. So she ignored it.

"Okay. What's your name?"

"Don't _you_ start an' all," yelled the man through the door. "We played that game in 'ere already, and it got boring really quickly."

"All right." Carter was nervous; Susan could hear the slight tremble in his voice. "All right… it just makes talking to you easier, sir."

Another long pause caused the Chief of Emergency Medicine to realise just how hard her heart was thundering in her chest, and she almost winced at the unpleasant sensation.

"Atkin. You call me Atkin."

"Okay, Mr. Atkin, thank you." Carter nodded needlessly again, perhaps thinking things through in his mind. They knew they shouldn't be this close to the room; some ten feet from the door. If the man fired through the glass, he might hit one of them; they should move back… but something compelled them to stay, at least until _some_ of the situation had been assessed, at least. They had to have _some_ idea of what was going on. "Mr. Atkin?"

"_What_?" The irritation and frustration was clear in the tone of the barked voice.

"I have a request, if… if you'll consider it."

The pause was even longer this time; utter silence tore through the two doctors outside the locked and shut off room, staring at the covered windows and the secured door as if all the answers they needed would pour out with enough attention focused on them.

"What is it?"

Carter sighed as if in relief, and braced himself visibly, squaring his shoulders a fraction before calling out, "Can I speak with _one_ of them? We believe there are three of our staff inside with you, but all I'm asking is to speak with _one_." Carter paused for just a moment, before emphasising gently, "Just one."

There was a light, almost inaudible laugh, and Susan thought she might have heard the words 'don't ask for much' said quietly, but she knew her mind could very well have been playing tricks on her at that point in time. She dismissed it accordingly as unimportant, and waited with her companion.

"Just _one_… I hear you say more than one name, and you'll hear another bang."

Carter glanced to Susan. Susan glanced right back. A silent agreement passed between them before Carter looked back at the door and almost tentatively tried the first name he thought to use, "Abby?"

Susan wished all the pauses would stop. But this one was not entirely silent; there was a muttering as if of warning from inside, before a voice replied, "Carter."

Carter's sigh of relief was louder this time, and matched with Susan's. It was Abby… and she sounded unharmed.

"Abby, are you all right?"

"I'm all right."

Gnawing on his bottom lip worriedly for a moment, Carter called out again, "Is anyone hurt…?"

There was that damnable silence again… so thick she could almost taste it, and it was choking. She just wanted it to stop… any noise – even the sound of a screaming baby – was better than this.

"Yes…"

There was a low voice, almost growled, and an equally low consent. Carter took the moments after that to ask, "Abby, who is it? Is it Sam?"

Susan prayed it wasn't Sam… she now understood maternal terror when children were concerned, no matter who was at risk; if the mother came into danger, she still worried only about her son or daughter; would they be okay? Who would look after them?

"No, it's not Sam."

Carter winced, and in a slightly apprehensive tone inquired, "Abby… is it Ray?"

"… Yes."

There was little to no pause for hesitation as Carter asked, "How bad is it?"

"That'll be enough questions, Carter," came the barked voice again, and there was a sound of a very light scuffle, as if of someone being pushed away. Silence descended again, but only briefly. "Got what you came down 'ere for… now piss off."

Carter nodded again. In a voice tinged with growing concern and even anger, he reluctantly called, "Thank you, Mr. Atkin." With that, he turned and quickly moved back down the corridor. Halfway down, with Susan right behind him, he broke into an urgent jog. Bursting back into the admin desk kiosk, he and Susan started handing orders left and right.

"Clear that corridor and the surrounding areas _immediately_; get everyone out of harm's way, no matter what," Carter told Malik and Haleh. They nodded, and quickly got to work.

Chuny furrowed her brows. "What's going on?"

She was ignored as Susan blurted, "Jerry, phone the police right away. Tell them we have someone with a gun in the building, and he's incredibly dangerous."

"Carter, what's going on?"

"Somebody get Luka on the damn phone!"

"Carter!" Chuny was right in front of the two of them then. The other nurses, save for Haleh and Malik, stood right with her, as well as Neela Rasgotra, Morris and one or two other doctors. "_What_ is going on?"

"Jerry," Susan began in addition as he picked up the receiver for the phone, "let the police know there's a hostage situation… and someone's been shot."

* * *

Neela let her eyes widen at that announcement, as calm as it seemed; she didn't believe the control behind the tone though. It was forced. She'd heard her father use that restraint more than once, and could recognise it in an instant. She glanced to Morris, whose eyes were narrowed so much in both frustration and utter confusion that they were just about closed altogether.

People started moving about briskly and with urgency to do as they were told, but she remained, her chart and pen in her hand, even as Carter began to move out from behind the desk. He had grabbed the second phone on the desk and was clearly trying to think of a number he probably knew off by heart really when she asked, "Dr. Carter, who is it who's been shot?"

She spoke with as much respect and tact as possible, keeping her voice reasonably low to keep the patients in the area from hearing. It was a little hard to do now that most of them had been listening to the announcements. Dr. Lewis seemed to be trying to make arrangements for the waiting room to be cleared; for patients in the 'queue' to go elsewhere. Some immediately kicked up arguments, but she stood her ground like an officer, and would not be dissuaded.

Either Carter hadn't heard her, or was still trying to think, but she had to know, so she asked again, "Who's been shot?"

"Neela, please, I'm trying to think." He growled at himself in irritation, and looked to Chuny behind the desk. "Find me Luka's number." Clearly, he'd forgotten it for the rush of activity; it happened from time to time. Neela had had it happen to her in the past.

Chuny shrugged. "I don't know where it is."

"Just _find_ it!" Carter snapped, eyes alight with frustration and concern.

Neela pushed herself behind the desk, rooted around for a few moments, and emerged subtly triumphant with the necessary information, handing it to Carter, saying simultaneously, "Who was it?"

"Neela, not now…"

"_Please_… we have to know; it's not fair."

Chuny nodded at her side, with Morris behind the two of them, cocking his head like a confused dog, even as Carter sighed, putting down the phone for a moment. He picked it up again, making Neela think she was to be ignored once again, much to her annoyance. Opening her mouth to ask _again_, she was cut short by Carter briskly replying.

"It was Ray."

* * *

"Two minutes…"

Abby was shaking, more out of worry than anything else, her eyes changing their focus every ten to twenty seconds. Never had she felt time drag so torturously. The one instance where she wanted nothing more than for it to fly by, and Murphy's Law had to come and beat her down. Cursing internally, she looked down at Ray, even as he slumped to his left side, releasing a brief whimpered cry as he did. Sam and Abby made to move in the same second, but the cocking of the gun once again kept them back.

Sam looked close to snapping, her eyes fixed fiercely on Steve Atkin's somewhat round and weathered face. Beneath the surface, she no doubt boiled with angry words and actions, to make him understand that Ray would die if he didn't receive emergency treatment. Not only that, but Abby had the horrible feeling they weren't going to be allowed out of this room. Eyes wandering, she tried to seek out the tools and equipment they would need…

"What're you lookin' for?" Atkin grumbled, gaze pointing her way meaningfully.

"I'm… trying to plan ahead," she answered truthfully, wondering just what that would achieve.

Atkin chuckled darkly and with nothing in the way of humour as he shook his head. But he didn't try and stop her, simply said, "So long as you don't move…"

She widened her eyes a little in annoyed emphasis of her nod, and shrugged very slightly, garnering a grumble, as Atkin said bluntly, "Don't act like you don't care, 'Abby'. I know you do, 'cause I can bloody well see it in the way you're shakin'. Keep actin' like a spoiled child, and I'll treat you like one. Keep acting that way, and _she's _the only one who's treating Barnett."

He'd indicated Sam, and at once, Abby fell quiet and submissive again. Not that she doubted Sam's medical skills, but she was no doctor… there was a difference, no matter how inconsequential at times. "Sorry," she muttered sincerely, gathering nothing in the way of acknowledgement.

"Thirty seconds… how you feelin', Barnett?" A smirk turned up one corner of Atkin's mouth as he looked down at the suffering intern, but he didn't receive a reply. Abby wished she could see Ray's face at that moment, just to see if he was awake or not, but she could only guess; considering Atkin hadn't commented on Ray passing out, she assumed he hadn't.

Good… they had to try and keep him conscious.

_Come on, come on, come on, come on…_

"All right, ladies… time's up. Help arrives." Pushing forward the hammer on the gun, Atkin stepped back and indicated their bleeding friend.

In a heartbeat, Abby and Sam rushed forward, dropping down beside Ray. Abby was more behind him, but carefully used her hands in cautious positions to get him to roll onto his back. "Ray… Ray, look at me, come on."

The green eyes opened and looked up at her. "Good… that's good."

"He's lost a lot of blood, Abby," Sam assessed, simply by temporarily removing Ray's stained hand from his wound. "We need to get him outta here and into trauma."

"Remember we're stayin' in here, ladies… use only what's at your disposal."

"_What_?" Abby couldn't stop the snappy inquiry, and was pleasantly relieved to _not_ find a gun in her face when Atkin looked to her.

"Think of it as a test…" he mumbled moodily.

"Dammit…" It was barely above a whisper, but Sam heard it she knew. As to whether Ray heard it or not, she couldn't say, but he was still conscious. His eyes were still open, and she could see some kind of concentration on his face. "Take it easy, Ray; believe it or not, we'll take care of you."

"Oh, man," he croaked, and Sam smiled softly.

"At least your sense of humour didn't suffer a blow," she quipped dryly, lifting the drenched t-shirt up and away as much as she could while he lay on his back. "Abby, look."

She did, and refrained from frowning; Sam's first assessment had been correct. Ray had lost a lot of blood, and it wasn't stopping yet. "Okay… Ray?" She waited until he looked to her for acknowledgement to continue, "We need to check your back."

"What for?" he asked, as if confused.

"Exit wound, Ray; to see if the bullet cleared."

Ray groaned. "Are you _trying_ to kill me, Lockhart…?"

She offered him a comforting smile, and nodded to Sam, who braced Ray accordingly. On the count of three, the two women shifted him so Abby could check his back, trying to ignore him voicing his pain while she did so, muttering a curse to herself afterwards. As they lay him carefully back down, she shook her head at Sam, who sighed, frustrated and worried.

"Did it clear?" Ray asked quietly, and Abby saw no reason to lie.

"No, Ray… it didn't clear."

"Great… I got an internal souvenir…" he groaned as he grimaced. "Stopping the bleeding would be nice…"

"Now you're going to be pushy? Fantastic, Ray, thank you."

"How about we cut down the chatter, children? Hmm? Just solve the problem." Atkin looked pointedly at the three of them like a scolding professor. Abby looked back at him, outwardly unaffected by his bullying, but inside trembling just like a small child.

"We can't solve it in _here_," she pointed out.

"Well you're gonna have to," he told her in return with just as much attitude. "Part of the deal. If you'd rather, you can go back to the other side of the room and watch him bleed to death." He cocked his head as the female doctor and nurse remained silent. "No? Good… then make use of what've you got, and stop bitchin' about it."

Abby used every fibre of restraint she possessed to keep from calling him something unsavoury, before wracking her brain momentarily, and asking Sam to look for some saline and anything to cover and bind the wound… and lots of both. Something like morphine wouldn't go unappreciated either, she knew, but she couldn't even think where everything was kept in this room as she knelt there, doing her best to figure out every problem and work her way through it.

"Just take it easy, Ray… it's gonna be fine."

Pulling in a deep breath, Ray's eyes turned to her, and lacking his trademark mischief, he commented bluntly, "… Liar."

**_To Be Continued…_**


	6. Read Between the Lines

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the slightly-longer-than-normal wait. I have many, _many_ thanks to **Shark Nut** on this one; a.k.a., my sister, who has watched _ER_ from the get go! XD She's being a huge help, so yay:) Ahem, geekdom and siblings aside, here's the new chapter, and it was written at about 2am… aheh…

**Leigh S. Durron:** Thanks XD

**striker20:** Tell me about it…

**Mellaithwen:** Yup, I do, downstairs… thankfully XD I get to watch it twice a week, aheh… anyway… thanks, regarding the details! I really do try with those, because I like to get things realistic – as in, I like having them like they are in the show/movie. Luka anger, rawr! XD

**Goody:** Thanks for having the restraint XD Hurt/comfort or angst is my favourite too… not that you didn't know that, aheh. I really appreciate your comment about how I write Abby; it's very comforting to know. Long live tension!

**LXGFanGirl:** Another Angst Addict! Yay XD I'm converting people… mwahahah… and, regarding _Envenom_, I'm trying x.X

**ShastenRothe:** Thanks very much!

**The last episode I saw was **_**11:06**_**_ – 'Time of Death'_****, the episode with Charlie, the alcoholic dying of liver/kidney failure, shot in real time. I really appreciate receiving no spoilers for episodes beyond this point in reviews XD Thanks very much!**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX: READ BETWEEN THE LINES**

Kerry Weaver moved as fast as her crutch would allow, and after practically leaping out of the elevator and pushing a shambling surgical resident out of the way almost, headed straight in the direction of the admit desk, where she would meet John Carter and Susan Lewis; they were the ones she wanted to speak with more than anything. They would be able to give her sharp, direct answers; to the point and accurate. That was what she needed right now. She didn't need speculation, she needed certainty, and as much of it as possible.

As she got closer, she could hear the bustle of activity, and soon recognised the black mass of police uniforms and security. She nodded to some of them briskly as she passed, and tried to see Carter over all the other people in the area.

Some of the nurses were moving patients back to where security deemed it safe, and though Kerry wished they didn't have to take such drastic measures, the way she understood it was that they were ultimately in charge; they had the final word and could shoot her down, unfortunately.

She spotted the Chief Resident's tall frame over some of the med-students, and after telling them to occupy themselves and carry on as best they could, she moved in a direct line for someone she had come to deeply respect. Susan was standing next to him, on the phone. As Kerry arrived, the blonde woman hung up, and turned to face the Chief of Staff. "So?" Kerry inquired bluntly but with an unmistakeable degree of concern. She had lost a loved one, and recently; she knew only too well the pains of losing someone close. While she didn't know of any relationships for Abby or Barnett – Sam was another matter – she did know they meant something to _somebody_; they were still someone's daughter or son, brother or sister… they were still loved. Their safety was still a major issue.

"Dispatch has been notified. We're closed to traumas," Susan reported at once, taking the mantle first. "All cases are being redirected to other hospitals nearby. We've only got minor ones as it is, and I'm trying to keep some of the staff busy in Exams One and Two, and Curtain Two as well."

Kerry nodded, looking to John. He nodded, and said, "They've pretty much blocked off the corridors leading to Exam Three; Trauma is shut off and they've advised us not to retrieve anything from that area. We collected as many supplies as we thought we might need for the next few hours."

"Let's hope it won't take that long to clear this up," Kerry noted aloud with a degree of her distress in her voice; she was good at hiding her emotions. Experience had taught her well. "You said you spoke to the man; what happened exactly?"

"We… we didn't say much to each other. I spoke more with Abby."

"So you know Abby's all right," Kerry confirmed. John had told her on the phone about the situation. "You didn't hear Sam?" John shook his head. Kerry nodded grimly. She didn't like this situation at all, understandably… who would? Her eyes shifted to take in the movement of the security and police, noting the way they spoke with one another swiftly and with precision; out of habit and practise. She wondered how often things like this happened, in or out of hospitals. Hopefully not all that often.

"You have no idea who this man is?" she asked after a while.

"Not yet," Susan revealed with a drawn out sigh. "We only got a last name; Atkin. We heard his voice too, and we know he's British. We didn't see his face."

Kerry nodded slowly again. Leaning against the crutch as she stood there, thoughtful, she looked to John after a few moments. "You said you called Luka?"

"Yeah," he replied somewhat quietly, never taking his eyes off the men at the front of the proceedings; clearly superiors or specialists… perhaps negotiators. Many of the men present were outfitted in vests, which Kerry assumed to be bullet-proof. All wore radios and earpieces for contact. "I thought he should know; he'd be taking care of Sam's son while she was working. I thought it best that they come in…"

Kerry didn't say anything, simply waited for the inevitable further explanation.

"Sam's son should be nearby; as soon as we get them out of there, it's best he's here for her, and vice versa. And when Ray is brought out, he'll need immediate treatment… that is, if we can't get him sent out before it's all over."

"Abby didn't say where he was hit?"

A shake of the head deflated that hope. "She was stopped before she could answer. But I thought Luka could help… or, if not, he could at least make sure Sam and Abby are okay while we treat Ray."

Kerry nodded. It didn't seem the soundest plan ever, but she knew it was for their peace of mind that Alex Taggart and Luka Kovac were being brought in. gazing in the direction of the doors, Kerry was disheartened by the sight of so many blue lights, and police officers at the entrance. As she stood there, she couldn't help but wonder one thing…

What made County General such an action hot-spot…?

* * *

Dark eyes watching the nurse as she moved, Steve Atkin kept his guard up. He made sure to keep at least part of his attention on the other woman as she stayed at Barnett's side. The nurse was checking drawers, cabinets and bedsides, and he narrowed his eyes. She had a few things in her arms, but not much. Normally, Steve would have inquired, but he settled for a subtle shrug; he was here to teach these doctors a lesson. They moved around with so much superiority, as if they were more intelligent; more special and more valued. It was all lies… they were just people like everyone else.

And if someone had to die to show that, then so be it.

* * *

It was so tempting to close his eyes and leave them that way, but a small yet dominant voice in his head stated firmly and loudly that this was a bad idea; he had to stay awake, and as alert as possible. It was agony, yes, but he had to try and focus. He had to focus on anything he could, and right now, that was the middle ceiling tile, and the fact that it had a crack halfway through it, with a chipped corner. Maybe he should bring that up sometime…

"Ray? You still with me?" Abby's voice broke through his idle musings, and somewhat groggily, his eyes turned to her. He blinked sluggishly, and nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"All right…" The voice was Sam's now, and she moved over. "Abby, we need to get him off the floor and onto a gurney or a bed."

His fellow intern nodded, but the other man in the room spoke up at once, saying, "And just why do you need to do that?"

"Because we can't treat him on the floor. We need to hook him up to a heart monitor to observe his pulse and blood pressure; he might need oxygen, and he needs saline solution to compensate for the lost fluids in his system."

Ray nodded very discreetly along with the explanation, but grimaced. He never had enjoyed the sensation that was nausea, but he quickly pushed it down and ignored it as best he could; he looked to Sam instead, who smiled faintly down at him. He offered it back lazily, and took in a deep breath, wincing heavily afterwards and keeping his eyes screwed shut.

"Abby…" Sam muttered, and then knelt beside the young man. She touched a hand to his shoulder, and then to the top of his head. "Ray, what is it?"

After a few moments, he opened his eyes again. "Nothing… nothing, it's okay."

"Don't lie to us; we can see right through you. We always have been able to; we just never told you," she joked lamely, looking to Atkin from her place at Ray's side. Both women were staring at the man now, Ray saw, and he wondered what Atkin's expression was like; was he thinking it over?

"Fine… put him on a bed, but I ain't helpin'."

Abby rolled her eyes with the utmost discretion, and looked down to Ray almost with guilt. "You're gonna have to help us out, Ray. We can't carry you, obviously, so, carefully, you're going to have to move yourself so we can get you onto a bed, okay?" She frowned, saying carefully, "It's going to hurt, but we'll be able to do you more good up there than we can down here. And it'll be more comfortable."

"Not likely," Ray mumbled. Regardless, he nodded, confirming that he needed to move, and help himself by helping Sam and Abby. "Can we get this over with…?"

"All right… okay, sit up, come on…" Abby and Sam supported him, and helped him rise from his back, as much as it hurt. He could feel his blood rushing through his veins; the way his heart seemed to thunder rapidly in his chest… he wasn't so sure he liked that sensation. "Okay… on three." Abby and Sam supported him again, more or less right under the arms and around the torso, and as they counted, he braced himself. This was really going to hurt…

"… Three."

The movement upwards was enough to almost throw him back down in utter exhaustion, and he gave an abrupt, half-stifled cry as it was, trying to bite it back. The wound throbbed madly, and as quickly as possible, they moved to the bed. Positioning him carefully, Ray lowered quickly onto the bed, his breathing brisk and short each time as he recuperated. His hand had gone to his side again; it was already so coated in blood that he could barely notice the fresh oozing from the wound itself.

"Okay, Sam, what did you find?" Abby and Sam were busy now, hopefully in the kind of aware auto-pilot that they all used when a job came about. Everything was so carefully programmed into the mind that with each case, it became a rhythm. Or it should… it was the easiest way to get things done.

"Got some saline, but not a lot of it. Bandages and gauze…" If she was indicating, Ray couldn't see, and so he settled for trying to take deep breaths… unfortunately, he couldn't seem to master the seemingly simple process, and it frustrated him more than anything. He didn't realise in his state that he'd missed half of what Sam had been saying to Abby, and when he trembled slightly, but more than once, he knew something was wrong. He opened his mouth to say something, but barely any sound came out; little more than a gasp was all he achieved, annoyingly.

Sam turned her head to him, and moved closer; they'd been looking at the items that the nurse had placed down on a tray next to the bed. "Abby." It was a simple call, but it worked like a charm; the female intern moved over, pulling her stethoscope from her neck and donning it. Slipping it into place, she was silent for a minute as she watched Ray's face, making him feel somewhat unnerved.

Ray shuddered again, and this time, it refused to stop. He felt hot without overheating, his skin damp with a fresh layer of perspiration, making him clammy and uncomfortable, and his nausea returned.

"Dammit," Abby muttered impatiently, pulling her stethoscope away and looping it round her neck again, "he's going into shock."

Sam moved quickly with Abby, and Ray lay there, with only one thing on his mind. Why didn't they cover the wound?

And that was when he felt Sam back at his side, her body angled so she could use something in her hands. "Sorry about this, Ray…" With that, she cut right up the front of his shirt, parting it down the middle and exposing the wound in his side. Not long after, she was applying pressure to the wound, eliciting a small yelp from Ray. Abby was beside him again, gently but insistently slipping an oxygen mask onto his face to help his breathing. "You know what's happening, Ray?" she checked, either to keep him active or simply to test him; either way, he nodded briefly, eyes closed in discomfort. He clenched his left fist as Sam tended to the wound, muttering to herself.

"Abby, we need to get that saline going or somethin'," she noted simply, indicating the wound with a nod of her head. Already she was switching the gauze, trying to clean the area around it so they could examine it properly for a more accurate assessment. Ray could tell without looking that they weren't having much luck.

"Have we got what we need to set up an IV in here?"

Atkin wasn't far away, perched half on a bed next to the one they worked at, watching like a hawk ready to swoop in for the kill. It only added to Ray's nervous discomfort… he had quickly decided he didn't like being on the receiving end of all the excitement; he preferred to be 'behind the wheel', as it were.

"Dammit, Abby, he's losing a lot of blood…"

"I _know_, Sam. Do we have an IV or anything? He needs the saline."

Sam was shaking her head, and looking around. "I hate this room," she muttered idly in passing, keeping the gauze pressed down to Ray's side. He was still trying to take deep breaths through the mask, which helped to some degree, but not by much. Sam and Abby were right… he needed the saline. And hopefully, he wouldn't have to wait long for it.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	7. Just Too Real

**Author's Note:** Whee! Lively muses :) Hope you like the 'rapid' – not – update, and the content of it as well. Thanks again to **Shark Nut**! Oh, how she spoils me… XD

**Mellaithwen:** Ray Liotta deserves awards for that performance; it was so moving! And I think loving Luka is a requirement ;) I think I'll always like Carter… not sure why; but I will. I thank you kindly for your review, and your kind comments! Appreciate them muchly.

**Samyo** … Wow… that's really all I can say to show my gratitude and surprise to what you said… wow…

**ShastenRothe** I know _exactly_ what you mean XD There's a reason I co-created the _Angst Addicts Anonymous_ with another author… aheh. Thank you _so_ much for what you said about my writing; I really appreciate that… it's a big comfort :)

**Total Vaughn Lover:** Thanks! It's quite odd that I can get into Ray, considering I'm so used to writing Tom Sawyer instead, a completely – well, almost – different incarnation of Shane West. Hmm… but thanks!

**Angel Dust:** Thank you!

**Bobbyboots** Guess you'll find out… XD

**Issa** You had it right about the 'I hate this room' thing because it's so low on useful equipment for a trauma like a GSW… I've been devouring terminology; can you tell? O.o

**The last episode to air here in the ****UK****, was _'11.07 – White Guy, Dark Hair'_. Restraint from posting spoilers beyond this point in reviews is greatly appreciated. Thanks! XD**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN: JUST TOO REAL**

The only thing on his mind as he rushed Alex out of the apartment was that time was of the utmost important. There was none of it to waste, and the quicker they got to the hospital, the better. The phone call from Carter had just about made his heart leap into his mouth, and it was taking all his restraint to keep as calm as he was now; Alex still didn't know exactly what was going on. Luka had only told him that there was something going on, and they needed to be at the hospital right away. Of course – naturally – the child wasn't satisfied with this limited explanation, and every minute or so, the question, "What's going on?" would come Luka's way. He tried his best to pretend not to hear, or be as comforting as possible.

Only just remembering to lock his door, they rushed out onto the street, with Luka fumbling in his pocket for his keys. His car was just across the street where he'd parked it, but even as he made to cross to the vehicle, a police car pulled up in front of him, almost scaring him half to death. He cursed under his breath, and offered a mild glare to the driver. The passenger officer poked his head out of the window, saying, "Dr. Kovac?"

Luka nodded after a moment, and then he vaguely remembered Carter speaking with someone on the other side of the phone about a car… he must have meant someone was coming to pick up him and Alex.

"Officer Davies. Get in; we'll take you to the hospital," the man responded with calm swiftness. Luka nodded again, and ushered the child into the car, before jogging around to the other side and climbing in as well.

Shutting his door, he felt the car moving forward at once, with a controlled speed; enough to quicken their travel but not endanger other drivers. It took all the control he had left not to rapid-fire questions at the officers. It would no doubt irritate or distract them, and besides, there was no guarantee they would know everything that was going on. He would ask Carter when they got to the hospital.

"Luka, what's going on?" Alex repeated again, looking straight at the tall doctor beside him in the rear of the car. His youthful gaze was filled with a need for answers; he wasn't going to take another bout of silence.

But he would have to; Luka wasn't about to tell him all that Carter had told him over the phone. Alex didn't need to know that his mother was trapped in a room with an armed man; one who obviously had no qualms with harming a member of staff, from the sounds of it.

Officer Davies turned to glance into the back of the car, but only smiled at the boy. Luka watched, seeing the irritation on Alex's face as he slouched back into the car's seat. "Why won't anyone tell me what's going on?"

_Because you're ten_, Luka thought to himself, glancing out of the window to try and pass time and calm himself. But the busy lights and activity of night time Chicago did nothing to ease his nerves and tension. If anything, it increased it, and the journey seemed to drag. He understood why they didn't want him to drive for himself, but he thought it might have been a lot quicker all of a sudden. "How much longer?" he found himself asking without really noticing, his eyes staring out as they passed by stores and pedestrians.

"A few minutes, Dr. Kovac." The answer was simple, but it was an answer nonetheless, and he supposed he had to be thankful for that.

* * *

Sam sighed heavily and impatiently, and quickly blurted, "Abby, come and keep pressure on. I'll get it."

Abby was there not five seconds later, and the two switched, the intern's hands holding the absorbing gauze down on the wound in Ray's side, despite the pained expression that shot across his face at the action. It was for his own good; neither apologised. He knew it too, so it was somewhat unnecessary.

As Sam went about unlocking the small drugs cabinet, she cast a simple, non-suspicious gaze towards Steve Atkin. He changed his attention from Abby to Sam frequently, watching them, and when he saw her open the cabinet, he became wary. "What're you doin'?"

"He needs an IV so we can get the fluids back into his body," Sam called back, never ceasing in what she was doing. "Without them, he'll die from the blood loss, and you don't want that, do you?"

Moving into the middle of the room, Atkin glared at Sam. "Take that tone with me again, and I might change my mind…"

Sam paused for a moment, her hands tightening just a fraction around what she held; beneath the surface, her temper flared, and her eyes held a cool edge to them that was – luckily – hidden when she turned. "Sorry… but if he dies; your situation isn't going to improve. In fact, it'll get a hell of a lot worse."

"Sam…?" Abby called softly and almost warningly. Her eyes turned to gaze over her shoulder at the nurse, who closed her mouth tightly to keep it from running again, and looked as apologetically as she could manage to Atkin.

"What's your name…?" Atkin asked in a low voice.

Without turning her head back to him after continuing with her work, she replied, "Samantha Taggart."

"All right, Samantha… watch your tone, and hurry up." Moving back over to his place of observation, he added, "The way I understand it, time is of the essence…" The sarcasm in his voice made Sam almost throw everything to the floor so she could turn and offer a forceful piece of her mind, but for everyone's sake, she kept it to herself, and when she'd finished, she turned and moved back over to Abby.

"Sam," she said simply towards Atkin, who quirked a brow. "Don't call me Samantha."

Inside, a small voice timidly asked her not to chide the man with the gun, and at least in part, she heeded its warning, looking to him as she went about hooking up the IV.

"What's wrong with Samantha?" Atkin asked, and it seemed he was genuinely curious. There was still that undertone of annoyance, but it was lessened somewhat now.

Moving around to Ray's left; she replied as she worked, having long ago 'mastered the art' of multitasking; talking and continuing a job at the same time was a necessity in nursing and doctoring alike. "No one's called me Samantha for a long time; I just don't like it."

"… Pretty name though."

Sam almost paused in surprise, but merely blinked, looking from Ray to Abby, and then went about cutting away the sleeve of the male intern's coat. When that was done, she continued hooking up the drip and needle, and touching a hand to Ray's arm to let him know she was about to insert it, she finished the process as quickly but efficiently as possible. "Okay, done," she told Abby, who nodded. Moving away from the IV, Sam stepped back round to be next to Abby, having felt oddly uncomfortable when she was on the other side; so close to the man who had caused all of this. She had no idea just how affected by the whole experience he was, and just how far he would go. They didn't need another casualty; Abby might not be able to work on both effectively, so staying out of danger's way was one of Sam's priorities next to tending to Ray.

"How's the bleeding?" Sam asked Abby, who peeled back the gauze and shook her head. Sam didn't need an answer to that, so collected more gauze and bandages, handing them to Abby, before she moved to the head of the bed. "Hey," she said to the young man, "how're you holding up?"

He simply looked at her, and nodded.

"Is the mask helping?"

Again, he nodded.

Touching a hand to his somewhat damp and flattened hair, she smiled. "That's good. Just stay awake, okay? Count the ceiling tiles or something." She laughed, seeing his slight smile through the mask; it comforted her. When he stopped cracking bad jokes and smiling altogether, _that_ was the time to really worry. "Okay, just hang in there. We're doing everything we can for you."

Abby looked down at Ray and then back to what she was doing, sighing as she changed the gauze once again. "Sam, can you get some tape for when I stop the bleeding?" Sam nodded, and offered Ray one last smile before moving away.

Passing the soaked gauze on the way, she felt a weight push down in her stomach at the sight of the growing size of the collection.

* * *

When the police let him pass, he still had a hand on Alex's back, gently using the pressure to move him forward as if guarding him. Going straight through the doors leading to the desk, he carefully stopped Chuny on the way. "Take Alex to the lounge. Get him something to eat and drink… try and find something for him to do." Before the nurse moved away, he added, "Stay with him, okay?" Seeing her nod, he finished with a light, "Thanks."

Alex protested and clearly wanted to turn back, but the nurse was casually insistent that they enter the lounge, and within a few moments, they were out of sight, meaning Luka could finally let his concern and aggravation manifest to a safe degree. Kerry, Susan and John were at the desk, watching proceedings as much as possible, and he made a beeline for them. Ducking through some police officers on the way, he came up next to the desk's side, and they looked to him, having noticed his arrival.

"Luka," Kerry Weaver acknowledged and went back to her observation, her worry clear in her eyes if nowhere else. It was more evident with the two younger doctors, and Luka eyed them both, eager for answers to the questions he thought he need not ask; they had to be all over his face like a mask.

"They haven't done anything yet," Carter muttered. Luka could see in the other man's eyes the anger he felt as well; the anger and the blazing concern. Whether or not it was in relation to his own attack in the past, he couldn't exactly tell, but this was affecting him to a different degree than others. Luka remembered working on Carter after the other doctor had been stabbed in the back; he wasn't keen to go through the emotions of working on a fellow employee again, but it could very well be a possibility. Looking to Lewis and Carter both as they stood side by side, he swallowed dryly, and asked, "Has anyone been hurt?"

The hesitation and delay was all he needed, and at once, an explosive concern rose up inside of Luka. It flashed in his eyes powerfully, and he moved around to the other side of the desk. "Who is it?" Despite the pause being only a matter of seconds, he didn't wait, and soon found his temper raising a fraction. "Carter, who is it? Who's been hurt? Was it Sam? Is she okay?"

"Luka, calm down," Lewis eased. "Give us a chance to respond, okay?" She had her hand on his arm comfortingly and reassuringly, and that managed to ease his fraying nerves; his posture relaxed slightly and some of the tension in his limbs withered. He looked at Carter, waiting.

"Someone's been shot," the other man responded, but before Luka could interrupt, he continued, "and Sam, as far as we know, is fine."

"Then who was shot?"

"We spoke to Abby briefly. Ray was shot, but we don't know where or how bad the injury is."

Luka cursed quietly again, noticing Kerry gazed to him briefly and perhaps pensively. She went back to her observation, silent.

"They'll be able to treat him in there," Carter added hopefully. "But the police are going to try and work on having him sent out, at least."

"Which room are they in?" Luka asked, calmer now, but there was an unmistakeable edge to his voice that almost made it tremble with anxiety. Holding it back as much as possible, he looked to his companions.

"Exam Three. We're closed off to traumas," Susan responded gently but firmly. Looking to Luka, she asked, "Where's Alex?"

"I had Chuny take him into the lounge," Luka responded almost automatically, his eyes having wandered to stare at the proceedings of the police and the like. They weren't moving fast enough for his liking, but he knew he had no say; he had to – like everyone else who worked here – wait and hope for the best.

But sometimes, waiting just wasn't good enough for him. It was painful, but he couldn't control it. He hated it.

"Why don't you get yourself something to drink?" Susan asked him lightly, looking pointedly at him. "It'll help."

"I'm not thirsty," he responded on reflex, not wanting to miss a moment of what was going on; he wanted to be ready to leap into action the second something happened.

"Luka… go get a drink."

The tone in Lewis' voice left no room for argument, and so, reluctantly, he moved with a nod towards the lounge. Sighing, he scratched the back of his head lightly, wondering just what would be said about him in his absence. His temper had endangered his job in the past, on more than one occasion. But he had a problem with loss… everyone did. He had felt too much of it in his life already.

He had lost Daniella… he couldn't lose Sam too.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	8. My Childish Fears

**Author's Note:** Hi – sorry for the wait! Ack! Hope you like the update. And just so you know, I'm going away on vacation for a week, and will be back next Saturday. I will be taking books and pens with me, and will be writing by hand, so hopefully I'll have something to give you when I get back, but it's just so you know I haven't… well, either, abandoned the story or… died o.O Once again, many thanks to **Shark Nut**! XD

**Sawyer Fan:** I'm with you on that one XD The smile that is…

**Samyo** Sorry; didn't clarify that one… sorry O.o And every Samantha I've known didn't like having their full name used XD It seems a universal thing.

**Mellaithwen:** Thanks very much! Glad you liked Luka's thoughts on Alex; it's just what I thought he'd… think O.o Yeah, _I_ make sense… not.

**LXGFanGirl** I'm _trying_ to update **Envenom**… sorry! It's being really awkward, and it _will_ get an update, I promise.

**ShastenRothe** Heh… long live angst! XD Thanks!

**MG:** Just curious… are you a fellow Brit? XD Your language (bloody brilliant) suggests that you are :)

**nobleblue** Thanks! And hi again XD

**The episode I just saw was '_11:08 – A Shot In The Dark'_, where a cop is shot, and his son has to make a decision about surgery; and where Ray abandons said patient for a gig… O.o Holding back on posting spoilers beyond this point in reviews is much appreciated! XD Thanks!**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT: MY CHILDISH FEARS**

As Sam collected the tape they'd need to secure the bandages when the bleeding had slowed and – hopefully – stopped, Abby pulled in a breath; she noticed it was slightly shaky, and with a brief and subtle clearing of her throat, hoped Atkin hadn't spotted it. He was watching Sam more closely than he was her anyway, so it was more than likely he had missed it; she didn't want him to have her fear to use against her. She had to be strong in the face of adversity.

_Or something like that_, her mind added as she looked to Ray, noticing how his eyes drifted closed. Keeping one hand down on the gauze, she reached up and touched the side of his face with the flat of her palm, saying a simple, "Hey," as she did so. This succeeded in stirring him enough so that his eyes gazed to her; she didn't like the slight vacant edge to them that she saw, but offered him a smile nevertheless. "I know you're tired, Ray, but stay awake, all right? We can't intubate in here… remember?"

Ray blinked sluggishly, and nodded. She heard the muttered, "Right," through the mask. It looked as though his breathing had steadied, the saline slowly but steadily compensating for the lost fluids. But at the rate the blood was escaping his side, Abby wanted to get him out of Exam Three and into trauma; he'd only get worse. She suspected the bullet had hit a vein or a blood vessel, but she wouldn't be able to tell without inspecting the wound deeper and at length; she couldn't do that in here.

_Damn this room…_

Sam returned with the tape, laying it down as she went to check the IV.

Abby nodded to the mask on Ray's face. "His breathing's steadied. We can take that off." Sam returned the nod in confirmation, and moved around the other side of the bed – further from their captor – to do so. Shifting Ray's head so she could remove the mask, she said to him, "Counted those tiles yet?"

"Gimme a break, Sam," he grumbled quietly. "I'm kinda distracted here…"

She smiled. "No excuses. I've heard you're good at multitasking. Don't let a little thing like this stop you."

Abby smiled, but only faintly. Sam would keep Ray talking; keep him awake. She noticed Sam had collected the tubing to slip over the male's intern's head to help with oxygen, to replace the mask; she'd anticipated the improvement, or at least hoped for it. Within a few minutes, Sam had put the tubing pipe on appropriately, letting Ray lay his head back on the thin pillow again. "That better?" she asked him.

"Sure," he confirmed almost lazily, and Abby quirked a brow. Was he _trying_ to be stubborn? She smiled at the thought, and checked the gauze again. Slipping a fresh one on once more, she heard Sam move closer.

"_Another_ one?" the nurse inquired quietly, and Abby nodded. "D'you think he hit something?"

"No sure way of telling," Abby replied just as discreetly. "I can't really check in here…"

"What's with the secrecy, ladies?" Atkin was staring pointedly at them, and the two looked to him in return. Neither responded, prompting him to add, "I'm sure your friend Barnett can handle whatever you have to say to one another; probably wants to know what's goin' on. Patients _like _knowin' what's goin' on after all… don't keep it all a mystery."

There was a warning in that little speech, and with only a simple gaze to Sam, she let the nurse take over the job of monitoring the blood loss. She stood nearer to Ray's head, seeing him lock his eyes on her face. He was paler than normal, understandably, and she could almost hear his breathing for the slight force put behind it. Sighing lightly, she called on her courage, and said, "You're losing a lot of blood, Ray. The bullet might have damaged a vein or a blood vessel, which could account for the rate you're losing it, but I can't be sure. The only way to know for certain would be to transfer you to trauma…" The not-so-subtle hint didn't go unnoticed by Atkin.

"Fix it in 'ere or don't fix it at all, Dr. Lockhart…" Clearly, he had caught her stitched name on her coat.

"I can't do that. I don't have the equipment."

"Well then do what you can for him, 'eh?"

Abby sighed again, and looking to Ray once more, made herself busy by collecting the nearby heart monitor, and setting that up, throwing the occasional annoyed glance at Atkin, but only when she noticed his head turn to watch Sam. When she was finished, the slightly altered rhythm of Ray's heart could be heard emanating from the machine in its high-pitched song. She stared at the display for a moment, as if caught in a memory, and then went about setting up the pulse/ox instead. Taking a mental note of both readings when she was done, she stored them away in her mind. Sam looked to the equipment as well, locking the figures away in her head also, from the look on her face. There was no need to speak them aloud. If Ray wanted to know, he could ask; they wouldn't lie.

"Hey, Lockhart…"

Abby looked down at Ray, cocking her head.

"How long have you worked here again…?"

"Six years, Ray… why?"

He smiled in an almost lopsided manner, and laughed quietly. "Just curious… good to know you know what you're doing."

Abby was a little taken aback by the sincerity behind the comment, and raised both eyebrows for a moment, before smiling. "Well… take it easy. We'll take care of you, all right?"

When the green eyes turned to her, she didn't miss the very slight pleading in them, just before he nodded. She hadn't expected to see that…

Ray was frightened… he didn't want to die.

* * *

Swallowing dryly, he turned his head back to stare at the ceiling with as much focus as he could manage.

_Twenty-seven…_

He winced when Sam shifted the gauze, and heard her apologise. She called to the other, mobile intern, and Ray looked to Atkin, turning his head to the left to lock eyes with the armed man. The gun was resting on Atkin's right knee as he sat, his hand still gripped around it readily, but his finger out of the trigger guard. Ray didn't say anything, or do much at all, apart from stare.

Atkin stared right back.

"The bleeding's slowing," Abby told him, and that was when he turned his head, realising how heavy and weighed down it felt. He tried to ignore the sensation, and the beeping of the monitor to his right. It was somewhat distracting.

"That's good," he noted aloud, to which Abby nodded.

"Yeah," she acknowledged. "How're you feeling?"

"Tired…" he admitted, angling his head a little to try and ignore the scrutiny he was undergoing from Atkin all of a sudden. The man was still sitting in the same place, but it was almost like he was fixated on the young doctor, much to Ray's displeasure. It wasn't like he could ask him to stop though – for all the good it would do him – so he didn't say anything.

"The more blood you lose, the more you'll feel it. Hopefully the fluids will help." She smiled wanly. "But then, you know all this, so…"

He laughed very softly, wishing he hadn't when a small bolt of pain shot through his side. He winced lightly, and nodded instead. Lying still for a while, he heard the monitor's beeping again, and absentmindedly noted how it was slightly irregular in its rhythm. His heart was trying to compensate for the lost blood, and he wasn't so sure he liked that sound…

Atkin slipped off his seat, and moved over to the window, shifting the blinds in a somewhat cliché manner to peer secretively through them.

Normally, Ray would ask for BP and the like, but this time the patient wasn't some stranger he had to patch up and move along; it was him laying on the gurney now, and he didn't think he really wanted to know all of a sudden. The way he was feeling, it probably wouldn't help his mood to hear about the vitals.

Looking across the room to where Atkin had taken up a short watch, he blinked slowly, and then looked back to Abby. "How bad is it?"

She looked back down at him, one brow lifting in query.

"Really… tell me… how long am I gonna last in here… if I don't get to Trauma?"

Abby cocked her head to one side, eyes averting to the far wall as she roughly calculated, no doubt. Giving a light, apologetic shrug, she returned her gaze to him again, saying, "A couple of hours without the right equipment and procedures."

Ray closed his eyes for a short while, a light sigh slipping out of him before he muttered, "Great…"

"Sorry, Ray…"

Shaking his head lightly from side to side, he muttered, "Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong… just…"

Ray hesitated, and fell silent, nervous about the conclusion to his sentence. It would contradict the role he played in the _ER_, he knew, but did that really matter right now? He was frightened and he was badly hurt… he wasn't strutting around to check on patients or wait for the next 'exciting' case to roll in the door. This was different… so he had every right to act different as well. He shouldn't be afraid to show that side of him; the side that was terrified of dying… even losing consciousness, and therefore awareness of what was going on around him, and…

"… Abby… don't leave…"

He felt her hand slip softly into his and squeeze lightly as she said, "I won't…" Leaning down slightly, she added in an attempt at humour, "Not like I can, but… you know what I mean."

Holding back the little laugh, Ray looked her in the eyes, nodding again, before his gaze travelled to the ceiling again, focusing on those bland, boring tiles overhead.

_Twenty-eight… twenty-nine…_

* * *

They were up to something out there. There was a lot of movement down the end of the corridor, and he could make out forms of people… _lots_ of people.

Police, he guessed, and lots of them.

Only to be expected, he knew. It wasn't as if he thought they would be likely _not_ to call the authorities and alert them to the situation. Part of him had known this would happen all along. Of course, deep inside, he had never fully intended to shoot one of the hostages, but the young doctor had been annoying him; all those questions and insincere assurances… a man could only take so much. Of course, he was fully aware of the dangerous consequences should Barnett die as a result of the gunshot wound. If he were to be arrested, Steve knew the punishment would increase extensively were one of them to die.

But he wasn't about to let him go, either. He had to be cruel to make them see… to make them see that they went about things the wrong way. They had to make some changes; seven minutes for an ambulance had cost his wife dearly… the poor treatment en route to the hospital had only exacerbated that… and then the procedures and delays in the hospital itself. Steve always thought it had seemed like there were too many people trying to do one job at a time; too many cooks spoiled the broth, as they said…

He was no doctor; that was for certain. He knew next to nothing about anything medical. He'd never learnt in school, and he still didn't know to this day… he couldn't do CPR, let alone read blood pressure and the like.

Things were so different here… he didn't like America, but he stayed for his wife's family. He didn't want to run away. But he had a home back in London if he ever got out of here… and he would go back to it if he could. After this, Celia's parents would never accept him again… they probably wouldn't even look at him if word got out about what he'd done. So he would have to leave… this would change everything.

But then… he had never expected anything less.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	9. Taking Over Me

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry this took me so long. I got back off vacation and was trying to get back into the swing of things, and I had some really bad news this morning about my dog who had to be put down, so I'm not too fantastic at the moment, but hey… writing helps, so here's a chapter.

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. I'll go back to acknowledgements next time, I promise.

**The last episode I saw was _"Skin"_, where Abby is kidnapped by gang members who want her to help an injured brother/cousin. I'd really appreciate no spoilers beyond this point in reviews. Thanks.**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE: TAKING OVER ME**

Striding straight over to the coffee pot, he lifted it out of the percolator, and grabbed a mug, hearing the ten-year-old come up behind him; he was surprised it had taken Alex this long to move, actually. He had expected to be pounced upon the moment he had opened the door. The child was practically explosive with energy and need.

"Luka, what's happening? Nobody will talk to me."

"Do you want something to drink?" Luka asked as he subconsciously grabbed the milk, his actions running on autopilot; he had no real awareness of what he was doing. But then, he was only making coffee… it wasn't exactly the most difficult process on the face of the planet. Now, a central line…

"Luka!"

Pausing as the fridge door swung closed noiselessly, Luka looked down at Alex, who stared up at him with wide, urgent eyes, pleading and desperate. He sighed, and set down the milk, setting a hand on Alex's shoulder as he said, "Alex… listen to me; you're a child. I know that's not what you want to hear right now; you want to know what's going on, but… it's the reason no one is telling you anything."

"That's–"

"A load of crap, I know," Luka interrupted as he sighed again, running a hand over his face, before turning back to his coffee. He'd suddenly forgotten if he took milk or sugar… how very odd. "But it's the way things are, and… I'm sorry… but I can't tell you anything."

Alex simply stood there, no doubt inwardly seething, before throwing his arms up on either side of him and declaring, "This is bullshit!"

Luka was stirring his coffee systematically and slowly, almost methodically as he said calmly – too calmly – and softly, "… Don't say things like that."

* * *

Removing the stethoscope from her ears, she nodded to Sam. "Good breath sounds." The nurse nodded back, and Abby hooked the tool around the back of her neck comfortably again, moving to check the gauze even as Sam pulled it away as if reading the question in the intern's eyes. It wasn't so constant as before, but it hadn't stopped yet… not a good sign, but not altogether a bad one; at least it had slowed.

At least Ray was still _alive_.

"How're you doing, Ray?" she asked as she stood next to Sam, waiting for the other young doctor's response, glancing to Atkin at the window for a moment. The wait got longer. "Ray?"

Eyes flickering briefly to Sam, who was staring up the bed to where Ray refused to respond, Abby walked to the left and came up beside the head. "Hey… hey, Ray, c'mon, don't go to sleep." Ray simply shifted his head and closed his eyes a little tighter, forcing Abby to nudge his shoulder and say more insistently, "Hey!"

The eyes fluttered and then opened halfway as he pulled a face not too unlike a displeased grimace, as if she had just woken him up from a sleep he didn't want to leave. She stared down at him, asking, "You with us?"

Ray took a moment to respond, saying eventually, "Yeah… yeah, I'm awake…"

"Could've fooled me," she muttered with half a smile, though it was a worried one. He was deeply lethargic; she could tell that from the amount of times they'd had to rouse him. It came from the loss of blood; the more he lost, the worse it got, understandably. She thought the saline would help, but obviously, it wasn't keeping up with the pace. Sighing very lightly, she touched a hand more gently to Ray's shoulder, and told him, "Well, the positive side is, you have good breath sounds."

"That's something," he murmured, a hint of a smile touching at his mouth for a couple of moments, before he coughed a few times. Abby frowned, not sure what she could do for him… she wished there was a way she could convince Atkin to let them leave, but… well, she was an optimist at times, but she wasn't delusional.

"How long have we been in here?" she heard him ask quietly, and looked down at him, meeting his gaze. She glanced to her watch, regarding the ticking hands for a moment before looking back to her friend.

"Almost an hour and a half."

"Time flies…"

Abby smiled faintly. She couldn't help but agree with him… time really was passing quickly; faster than she would have liked. The more time that passed; the less Ray had. Pulling in a deep breath, she checked his stats again, before looking to the drip. Everything was… well, it wasn't okay, but there was little she could do to improve it. Unsure of what else to do, she told him quietly, so Atkin wouldn't hear, "They'll get us out, okay?"

Ray nodded, closing his eyes for a while.

* * *

As to whether or not Abby's assurance was actually true, Ray didn't know, but he supposed he should try and believe it. It was better than telling himself he was going to die, anyway. He would much rather believe her words than his own internal ones; hers were much less depressing than his own, if nothing else.

Regardless of the assurance, he couldn't help but notice his side was starting to go awfully numb… a sensation he quickly decided he did not like; not one bit. He glanced to Abby, and then across the room to Atkin, who turned away from the window and stalked back to his perch. Ray pulled in a breath, and coughed again, finding it harder to stop, even as Sam changed the bandaging on his wound again; this time, he noticed, fixing it down.

"Ray? Ray, take it easy," Abby eased, and he heard the concern in her voice. Fighting against it, he managed to stop the coughing, but only just, all but panting after doing so. Feeling her hand on his shoulder again, he nodded slowly, breathing heavily.

"I'm okay… I'm okay…"

Sam moved up beside Abby now, and Ray opened his eyes, looking to the two of them. Catching a glimpse of Sam's hands, he saw the blood on them, and frowned slightly.

"The bleeding has slowed… but, I can't get it to stop," she told him, sighing lightly. "I've bandaged it for now, but I don't know how long it'll be before I have to change it again."

Ray nodded carefully, not wanting to jar himself again. The last thing he wanted was to cause himself more pain than was welcome, and while it wasn't as intense as it had been, he didn't necessarily take any comfort from that fact. To be completely honest – even if he didn't like it – he would have preferred to feel it like before. The slight numbness was disconcerting.

Atkin was looking at the women almost expectantly, lifting one brow in a silent inquiry. Abby and Sam exchanged a fleeting glance, before the former said, "We've done as much as we can for him… at least in here."

"Right." There was very little in the way of emotion in the older man's voice, and a blunt nod accompanied the simple acknowledgement.

Abby sighed, and Ray looked to her in a manner that asked her not to get herself into danger; he knew she was far from submissive by nature, and normally, he admired that in a person – he was that way himself, most of the time – but at times, it could lead to trouble; in this case, the trouble could be at the end of that gun. Ray already regretted running his own mouth the way he had before getting shot… he didn't even want to think about it happening to one of the others.

"What next?" Abby asked quietly, so as not to seem too challenging towards the man. She avoided eye contact for a time, before they landed squarely on Atkin.

"We wait."

"Wait for what?"

Atkin's eyes narrowed. "And what's with all the sudden questions, 'eh?" Cocking his head slightly, he continued, "All you have to do is wait, and keep calm, and this'll all sort itself out."

Abby looked down at Ray briefly, her hand touching his shoulder again, even before the male resident had noticed his own eyes closing. He opened them at once, silently ordering himself to stay conscious.

"Look… I can't understand what you're going through." Abby's voice was soft and almost submissive. "But I know one thing…"

Sam was quiet to the other side of Abby, trying not to look at Atkin, it seemed.

"You're clearly very upset by all of this, and you have every right to be," Abby continued, carefully. "But that doesn't warrant _this_… whether you realise it or not, and I'm sure you have by now, there are dozens of police out that door and down the hall. They know what's going on…"

"I'm sure they do." Atkin was firm, as if he were unaffected by Abby's words, which was a very strong possibility.

"What do you think is going to happen to you?" Abby asked, and there was genuine curiosity there as well as what seemed like incredulity. But then, Ray didn't particularly trust his perception of things; the blood loss was making him light-headed and tired, so Abby could have sounded jovial and he doubted he would have really noticed.

Atkin didn't respond, simply sat there, staring coolly at Abby.

"And how much worse do you think it will get if he doesn't make it…?"

Ray closed his eyes at those words, but not from lethargy; more from fear. He felt it grip him inside, and after taking a shaky breath, opened his eyes again, looking briefly to their captor. Atkin glanced nonchalantly at Ray, pausing for a moment and meeting the intern's eyes, before looking back to Abby. When he spoke, his voice was almost empty; "There's nothing left for me without her…"

The words held a subtle impact, but one that hit hard nonetheless. The feeling that was concealed behind them was enough to sadden Ray and draw sympathy from him, despite his injury and it being the man's fault. He had still lost something, and he felt wronged. And he felt as if he had to put it right…

… Of course, there were better ways to go about it.

* * *

When Carter couldn't tear his eyes from the main bay doors, Susan followed his line of sight, just about cursing at what she saw. Outside, beyond the police who were pushing people back, she saw the light of the media camera, and the unmistakeable microphone in someone's hand… and there was another one behind them.

"_Just _what we need…" she muttered irritably to herself, looking to Carter, who nodded, looking to her in return. "It must've been a patient in the waiting room; overheard what we were talking about. Dammit…" Suddenly, Susan felt extremely foolish for even handling the situation the way she had. Weaver looked to her, but not in a chiding manner; if anything, it was with understanding that the older woman's eyes regarded her. The light in them calmed Susan slightly, but she couldn't help but think how satisfying it would feel to go and scream at the media beyond the doors. For now, the police and security were doing a good job of keeping them back.

Forcing her eyes to turn away, she looked to the superiors of the situation – at least she guessed they were from their attitudes and the way they handled the other officers – and wondered if she should inquire as to the progress of plans. She hadn't seen anyone make a move to talk with the man…

"Dr. Lewis?"

Susan turned, looking to Jerry at the computer, before moving over. She didn't speak; simply put her hands in the pockets of her coat.

"I thought I'd look into the name you mentioned to the police; Atkin." Jerry gazed up at her briefly. "We had a patient a couple of years ago by the name of Atkin. Celia Atkin."

"What happened to her?" Susan asked needlessly. She had a feeling she knew where this was going… though a very strong part of her hoped she was wrong.

"She died in trauma after being shot during a robbery of some kind. Husband was with her." Looking to Susan and Carter, who had come up beside the senior doctor, he clarified, "Steve Atkin."

Susan sighed, though it was more a groan, even as she pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and finger to try and quell the rising headache in her temples. This was turning out to be a _very_ bad day… and not just for her, especially.

Today seemed like everyone's unlucky day…

**_To Be Continued…_**


	10. The Weakness In Me

**Author's Note:** Sorry, once again, for the wait. I'm trying to stop the habit from forming, but with other projects, handing my notice in at work, and adjusting to… stuff, at home, it's getting tricky. But, I am trying to figure out details to a possible sequel to this, so I'm definitely not abandoning _this_ project o.O

**tvspaz626:** Thanks, about my dog. And, you've gotta ask yourself, do you _believe_ I'd kill Ray…?

**com-lag** Yayness! XD Thanks, Mark. Present for you when you get back from Devon, look. Don't say I never give ya' nothin'.

**Striker20:** Gah! So sorry to hear that :( That must have been horrible.

**Samyo** It's ringing a bell, but I don't think I've ever seen it, sorry.

**ShastenRothe** Angst Forever! XD

**Drink Sparky Coke:** All things come to (s)he who waits ;) Thanks very much, both about the story and my dog.

**Icefemina** If it's any comfort; I love Ray too.

**Cassie:** Neela will probably make another appearance in the upcoming chapters.

**Falling star:** Thanks very much:)

**Rach** Thanks! That's one of the highest compliments a fanfiction author can get, so I'm _flattered_, really. Thank you.

**The last episode I saw was _'The Providers'_, involving a young girl whose donated kidney – from her father – is being irreparably damaged by a new drug. Her father then 'kills' himself so she can have his second kidney, as the ultimate sacrifice. I would really appreciate restraint from spoilers beyond this point in reviews etc. Thanks! Hope you like the update.**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN: THE WEAKNESS IN ME**

"If you don't let him out," Dr. Lockhart began suddenly, "then there is absolutely _nothing_ left for you _anywhere_." She paused, and then added in conclusion, "Your life will be _over_."

Steve looked to the female doctor at once, almost in disbelief she had dared to say what she had. Either she had summoned her nerve, or had completely forgotten the situation; after all, wasn't she trying to keep Barnett alive, someone who'd already pushed it?

"Watch your mouth," he warned in a low voice.

"_Look_ at him!" she continued, indicating Barnett as he lay there, pale and trying to stay awake. Steve did look, and all he saw was in his mind; his wife, dying on that cold table. His eyes turned back to Lockhart, darker and threatening. He didn't need someone like her to remind him of the worst day of his life… especially not when everything he was doing now was to justify that… rectify that mistake. The hospital and the system had to realise how wrong they were. While it was true he didn't want the kid to _die_, necessarily, he did stand firm on his beliefs. He was just trying to get a little bit back… a bit of what he'd lost. "Look at what you're _doing_," she continued, seemingly unwavering in her vehemence.

Steve slid off the bed, trying to shut out her voice. He took to pacing around, gun still in his hand readily, and listening for any noise that could suggest the two women trying something stupid.

"He needs treatment; _emergency_ treatment; the kind your wife received as _soon_ as she got here. The ambulance may have taken seven minutes, but he's given you that… and more. Look at what it's doing to him… and to you."

He had to give it to her; she was certainly trying… but if anything, she was only succeeding in infuriating him more.

"It's extreme," Lockhart said to him, having moved away from the bed a little, to stand behind him a way. "If he loses consciousness, he's going to need intubation to keep his airways clear. He needs _surgery_; the bullet has to be removed. He needs _blood_. He's weak, and we've done everything we can for him in here." She paused for only a moment before pushing on, "We _cannot_ intubate in this room; if he passes out, that's it… there's a high risk he could die, and how are you going to feel about that?"

Face turned away from Lockhart, Steve scowled a little more, his eyes darkening.

"You don't want him to die…" She sounded unsure, but she was still trying, at least. "You say there's nothing left for you here, but…" He heard her hesitation, and he had a feeling he wasn't going to like where this was going.

"But… is this really how she would want you to react?"

Grimacing in anger and emotional reaction, Steve whirled, backhanding Lockhart across the face sharply perhaps without even realising as he barked, "Don't you talk about her as if you knew her; how _dare_ you!" Shaking with pain and fury, he stared at her as she held a hand to her face.

"Hey!"

It was the nurse, Taggart. She had clearly moved to surge forward and help, but Steve lifted the gun in a heartbeat, aiming at the other woman, even as Barnett looked distressed on the bed, his body moved in such a way that he could see, before he dropped back heavily to the thing mattress with a quiet noise of discomfort. Taggart froze, defiance blazing in her clear eyes and flashing briefly across her face before she backed down.

Looking back to Lockhart, and seeing the tears brimming in her eyes, he leaned close to her, saying, "You keep your mouth _shut_, 'Abby'. Remember where that got your buddy, Barnett."

The female doctor pulled in a shaky breath, even as Steve said to her, "Go back to where you were, and keep it shut, remember?"

Lockhart didn't nod or utter a word, simply walked back to where she had been, looking briefly to Steve as she reclaimed her position, nodding momentarily to Taggart, probably to say she was all right.

Steve knew this was getting out of hand… it was quickly escalating into something he had never intended. He hadn't thought this through enough… not that he was going to let his hostages know that. If he showed a weakness, they would exploit it, and he was here to try and teach _them_ a lesson… not the other way around. He didn't want any of their lectures or excuses.

He just wanted the pain to go away…

* * *

Luka had managed to slip away from Alex – thus leaving him with Chuny – and get back out to the admit desk. Things seemed to be heating up a little. Susan and John, along with Weaver, had turned their eyes and ears half to the television set up near the desk, apparently lost in whatever was showing. The authorities and officials seemed to be moving around a lot more now, with much more in the way of focus and drive. If Luka didn't know any better, he thought they were planning to put their attempts at negotiation into action very soon.

_Finally_, he thought darkly as he came up beside his fellow doctors. His weary light eyes turned up to whatever it was that had his companions so transfixed, and he all but groaned. _Damn reporters_.

The bottom of the screen was splashed with the words _'Hospital Shooting'_; they were leaving little to the imagination. It was difficult to make out all the words, but from what they were saying, it sounded as though a patient had leaked the information to the press. And they were eating it up hungrily; desperate for a juicy story, as always. He could see the desire to do some dismissing in Susan's all-too-calm face; the way her eyes had narrowed slightly as she watched the report. Before long, Weaver took up the remote, turned off the TV, and then stormed towards the doors. Luka, John and Susan turned their heads simultaneously to watch her, quirking brows and widening eyes before the latter sighed.

"They're gonna regret parking in the ambulance bay," she quipped dryly, even as the police negotiation team came over to speak with them. The foremost of this team was a man called Jason Steinbeck – he had already introduced himself stoically in a businesslike fashion when they'd arrived. He was a stocky man of around six feet, with dark hair flushed with grey in certain points along the temples, showing his experience and possibly his age, though his face portrayed him at no more than late thirties. Dark eyes were lined at the edges; too much coffee or tragedy had lined fine points in his face to go along with his occupation. It was a stressful job, Luka was sure; he certainly didn't envy Steinbeck… but he did respect him. It wasn't easy, but this man had the 'somebody's gotta do it' attitude that got things done. There were a few doctors like that around here…

"We're ready to head down and speak with Mr. Atkin now. You said you already spoke with him yourself, Dr. Carter?"

"Yes I did," John replied calmly and matter-of-factly, nodding twice.

"Is there anything else you can tell that you haven't already?"

John seemed briefly pensive, before he shook his head. "It was brief. He seems very upset; short-tempered and prone to outburst. All we know for definite is someone's hurt."

Steinbeck nodded this time. "A Dr. Barnett?" The three doctors nodded. "All right. If nothing else, we'll try and negotiate _his_ release at least. At this point, we'll take whatever we can, and try to work up some trust with this guy; see if we can't barter a little bit, maybe."

Steinbeck and his two colleagues gave them respectful acknowledgements before shuffling off again, talking amongst themselves, even as Susan looked to the two men behind her a little way. "Barter for _what_ exactly?"

Luka shrugged one shoulder, sighing heavily, before sipping at his somewhat unwanted coffee.

* * *

"I'm not at liberty to say," Kerry found herself almost growling as the reporter jabbed the hideous microphone in her direction again. They had fired the same questions at her over and over again. Who was hurt? Are they in critical condition? Is the man still armed? Have the police made any progress? Is the gunman a patient? Is he unstable? Frankly, she was getting sick of it, and running out of patience.

"Dr. Weaver, we were led to believe that this man is in full control of the situation, and that the police are, in fact, currently inactive."

Kerry's eyes narrowed, and she couldn't help but wonder if the reporter was _blind_… there were flashing lights everywhere. "You were misinformed."

"I see," the blonde and rather petite woman muttered, giving a vain flick of her hair over her thin shoulder. "Dr. Weaver, is it true that the injured party is, in fact, a member of staff here in the hospital?"

Kerry paused; some would say dramatically. In fact, she was staring pointedly and somewhat bluntly at the reporter. "No comment."

"Oh, come on now, Doctor, isn't that a tad cliché?"

"No," Kerry snapped in response. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a hospital to run. Feel free to leave the way you came, and as soon as humanly possible before we have you forcibly removed from the premises."

She stepped back behind the police guard and barricade, hearing the questions and demands yelled after her hungrily, even as she moved back into the hospital with the aid of her crutch. Sighing irritably, she shook her head, and moved over beside her staff once again.

She saw them look to her inquisitively, and simply quirked a brow. They knew not to ask, even as she inquired, "Has there been any progress?"

Susan nodded. "They're about to start the negotiation attempts." She sounded understandably nervous. Kerry leaned on her crutch out of habit, looking to the men who would hopefully unravel this tense situation and secure the safety of all three hostages, as well as detain the guilty party; this Steve Atkin.

"Has anybody contacted Dubenko?" Kerry inquired. "We could need him when this is over."

"I've tried," Carter responded. "He's in surgery at the moment, but he's aware of the situation, and will head down as soon as he becomes available."

Kerry nodded her acknowledgement to the information, even as the sound of approaching feet and a muttered voice turned her head to the side. "Dr. Pratt," she greeted bluntly. "What are you doing here? You're not on until seven."

Gregory Pratt pulled his scarf from his neck, looking over his shoulder as if waiting to be pounced on, but also as if ready to defend against said attack, before his dark eyes looked back to his superior. "I saw the news on the TV; thought you might need an extra pair of hands." He shrugged under his heavy jacket, looking over his shoulder again at the press outside the doors. "It's a jungle out there."

"Tell me about it," Kerry grumbled quietly before she met Pratt's gaze. "Okay; thanks for coming in. We could use the help. There are still minor cases in the area to be treated, and we can't stall all patient care for a situation, no matter how serious."

Pratt was pulling off his jacket as he persisted with his questions, "And just how serious _is_ it?"

Kerry hesitated before realising the more the staff knew; the better… so long as they knew how to be discreet about it when dealing with the patients already in the hospital. Besides, Morris already knew, so it would be no more dangerous if Pratt knew.

"How much do you know?" she asked him, so she wouldn't have to repeat what he'd already heard.

"Guy with a gun in the hospital; somebody's been shot. Obviously, the reports are pretty vague." He smiled in his usual cocky manner, adding to Kerry, "I'm guessing _you_ had something to do with that."

"Damn straight," she murmured.

"So what don't I know?" Pratt pressed, his tone more serious now, to match the situation; something Kerry noted and appreciated.

"The negotiators are heading down now to talk to the man – Steve Atkin. He had a wife here as a patient some time ago, who died in trauma after being shot in a robbery. His intentions and terms aren't known, but we know there are three definite hostages."

Pratt merely lifted both brows as a hint for her to continue.

"Drs. Barnett and Lockhart, and Samantha Taggart."

Pratt appeared somewhat surprised, and even alarmed; something Kerry had not expected to see in the resident, if she was going to be honest with herself… something that happened all too often at times. Almost hesitantly, Pratt queried, "Who got shot?"

While she had no doubt everyone was getting tired of that question, she knew they only wanted specifics; they wanted to be prepared when the victim got out of the room. They needed to be ready. "Dr. Barnett."

"Damn," Pratt murmured to himself, looking at the other residents, and back to Kerry. "How bad is it?"

"That, we don't know," she told him honestly. "Negotiators will find that out. They're going to work on getting Barnett sent out, if not all three."

Pratt nodded, clearly working the situation over in his mind, even as Kerry reached out beside her, and snatched a chart. "Chest pain; all yours."

The younger doctor hesitated, looked Kerry in the eye, and then accepted the chart, sighing lightly as he walked off to set aside his possessions before getting to work. Just because there was a crisis in hand, it didn't mean the capable doctors had to lose their focus.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	11. Are We The Waiting?

**Author's Note:** Sorry this one took a while again. Got sidetracked. Giving a little warning for this one, because of some language, but other than that, nothing to worry about… XD Don't know how many chapters I've got left out of this, but as I think I've mentioned before, I do have a sequel forming in my head; a less physical-angst-filled, less suspenseful sequel, but a sequel all the same…

**Mellaithwen:** Thanks muchly :)

**spacemonkeylover:** And kicking ass is always good.

**Samyo:** Steve Atkin is based on Ray Winstone; a cockney actor who played Bors in _'King Arthur'_. Thanks for asking :)

**Cassie:** Thanks. I like to have things detailed, but try not to go overboard, so I'm glad you like it.

**Sawyer Fan:** Don't say that o.O You'll give me a big head, and I _really_ don't want that.

**comlag:** Love it when Weaver's snarky XD

**KidBlink182:** Welcome to the story, and I'm very glad you like it :)

**The last episode I saw was _'The Middleman'_, where the boy Thomas is beaten by 6th Graders and ends up dying at the end of the episode, because Pratt dismissed him before Wendall could finish her job. I'd appreciate the restraint of spoilers beyond this point etc in reviews. Thanks!**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: ARE WE THE WAITING?**

Neela finished dressing the burn, and looked across the rather bustling curtain area, which was half-filled with staff and patients, and otherwise occupied by busy police and security. She suddenly felt a little lost in all the chaos, and didn't really know what to do with herself now that she'd tended to some of the patients who'd been waiting for treatment when the situation had started off. Part of her wanted to refuse working any longer, until she was certain of what was going on. Of course, the more sensible part of her said she should keep doing her job; help the time pass by aiding those who needed it. Of course, she knew Ray had been shot… and she was eager to help; any way she could. It didn't matter _how_ she helped… she just felt useless applying simple bandages and antiseptics. These cases were all small; there was nothing challenging, and suddenly, that disappointed her. And in turn, _that_ made her feel somewhat small and cheap.

Not far away, Morris was trying not to lose his concentration while suturing a patient's arm, which they had gashed. He was surprisingly quiet for a change, and actually looked remarkably exhausted. It was a wonder he hadn't dropped forward and passed out, from the looks of it. Neela quirked a dark, feminine brow, and stood, walking over to him after telling her own patient she was finished.

Coming up beside Morris, she seated herself on a nearby stool. The police were about to send a team down the hall, and she glanced to them briefly. "Hard to concentrate on what you're doing, isn't it?" she said almost casually, but with a hint of distress in her London accented voice.

Archie Morris turned his weary eyes to her as if startled, and managed to avoid pricking the woman's arm. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, from the looks of it… somehow, during all the 'excitement', the woman had fallen asleep, or fainted. Morris was taking advantage of her cooperative silence and stillness.

"What?" he fumbled, and then followed her line of sight. "Oh; right. Yeah, it is." He continued with his work, eyes down, before saying, "D'you reckon they're heading down now?"

Neela was surprised at the genuine concern in his voice… but she wasn't sure why. Morris wasn't an uncaring individual, just rather selfish and careless at times. He ran his mouth before running his brain, and it got him into trouble, that was all. She smiled softly, rather preferring this side of his character, and sighed. "It looks like it," she agreed quietly, wary of waking the patient. The last thing they needed was to have a nosy woman sticking her head into their conversation.

"How long do you think it'll take them?" Morris asked, looking up from his work briefly. "Y'know… to get them out of there."

Neela shrugged under her green scrub-top, pulling a pensive expression. "Not sure," she admitted. "Depends on the man in there; the one with the gun."

"Yeah… guess you're right." It was Morris' turn to sigh, apparently, and she watched him as he finished his suturing. "Hope it's soon, either way."

Neela smiled again, but it was rather wanly and forced that she did so. "Yeah… me too."

Ray and Neela were far from the best of friends; in fact, they had clashed on several occasions since their residency had started and she had returned to County, but they weren't enemies, exactly. She still cared whether he lived or died, and she wanted to get him out of that room, and into whatever emergency care treatment he needed.

* * *

_Fifty… or was that fifty-one? Dammit…_

Ray closed his eyes, hearing his own breathing in his ears, and wincing at the sound of it. It wasn't smooth and unnoticeable, as it should have been; it was somewhat ragged and struggled. Opening his eyes – more like forcing them – again, he looked to Abby, and furrowed his brows, admitting, "It's hard to breathe…"

"All right," she acknowledged in little more than a whisper, exchanging the tubes for the mask again. She adjusted the bed just a little so he wasn't completely horizontal anymore, which he silently appreciated. Though it did make counting the tiles a little more challenging all of a sudden; a thought which almost brought a smile to his face.

"Blood pressure's dropping," Sam murmured from not too far away, and Ray looked to Abby for her reaction, seeing a nod, as gentle as it was. He vaguely registered the other resident inquiring on the saline in the drip, and he was aware of the nurse responding, but he missed the details, looking to Atkin, who was pacing not far away, his dark eyes almost burning into the three of them. Suddenly, Ray found that gaze rather unnerving, and almost wanted to cower away from it. He leaned his head back, taking as deep a breath as he could manage, even as Abby checked on the dressing over his wound.

He felt her change it, and just about groaned, though not from the pain. He barely felt it anymore, a fact which continued to unsettle him. It was just the idea that he was losing enough blood for them to keep switching the gauze and bandaging that really set off the alarms in his head.

Not that the alarms hadn't started up when he'd first seen the gun, of course.

_I will not die in this room… or in any other room in this hospital, for that matter. At least, not anytime soon_, he told himself with as much vehemence as he could muster internally. He winced when Abby applied a little too much pressure to his side, but she apologised. Her voice suddenly sounded a little too submissive for Ray's liking. He was used to her being forward and almost commanding in the way she worked… not this. It was Atkin; he'd affected her personality and temperament, and Ray didn't like that at all. It stirred anger in him; anger that couldn't manifest, and in turn, that frustrated. He'd already decided he despised feeling this vulnerable, and he was more certain of that all of a sudden.

When his eyes nearly dropped closed all the way – and stayed there – he felt a hand touch his face, and moved his head a little, groaning when he heard the voice say, "Stay _awake_, Ray, dammit. I know it's hard, but… please."

Opening his eyes halfway, he met Abby's gaze, and saw the pleading there. She was afraid… afraid for herself, or for him? He couldn't help but wonder, even as he grimaced, and looked to Sam.

"How many tiles, Ray?" she asked him.

He merely arched a brow, and groggily shifted the mask long enough to say, "I'm kinda distracted… gimme a chance…" His voice was far from bold, but it was audible, and even as he let the mask settle again, she cocked her head and brought a smile to her face; it was fake, he knew.

"Well, keep trying, okay?" she pushed gently. "You'll get it."

If he'd had enough energy, Ray had the feeling he would have made a sarcastic comment about that time, but as it was, all he could do was meet her gaze briefly, before looking to the ceiling anew.

Of course, when there came a voice from the corridor, it nearly tore a startled yell out of him; one that he only just managed to restrain.

* * *

Sam turned her head in the direction of the door, from where the voice had originated. It was firm and masculine… a policeman, she quickly decided, and an experienced one at that; she got that much from the tone in his voice.

"Mr. Atkin? This is Jason Steinbeck of the Chicago Police Department."

_About damn time_, Sam thought cynically to herself, even as she read the display from the heart monitor, more out of habit than anything else. Half of her job sometimes was relaying the vitals to a doctor, and she did it subconsciously a lot of the time, without even thinking. It was becoming a habit.

Atkin didn't speak at first, simply glanced from the three staff members to the door, as if accusingly. Sam kept herself quiet and restrained. Atkin had already lashed out at Ray and Abby… she didn't fancy becoming the third target.

"Mr. Atkin?"

"I'm here… what do you want?" Atkin responded at last, gruffly, but with volume.

"I've come here to speak with you," Steinbeck replied out in the corridor, his voice loud enough to carry through the doors and windows and into the room, no doubt aided by a megaphone or something of the like… if not just a powerful set of lungs; either was a possibility.

"What about?" Atkin barked in response. "I'm not in the mood to talk."

Sam just about rolled her eyes. This man could be so childish, she'd noticed, and it was starting to grate on her remaining nerves.

"We know you have three hostages in the room with you. I'm here to negotiate their release with you, if possible."

_No kiddin'_…

Sam suddenly found herself feeling very impatient and short-tempered. She kept herself firmly in place though, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention on herself from the one man in the room who could do her harm. _Serious_ harm, for that matter.

"Well, you might as well bugger off," Atkin snapped, running a hand over his head and face, as if weary or frustrated.

"Mr. Atkin," Steinbeck began anew after only a short pause, "if you have no terms for the release of all three hostages, then I'm here to at least negotiate the release of _one_."

Sam looked to Abby, and then down at Ray, who had closed his eyes, but in more of a tight wince than anything. Either he was in pain, or fighting the lethargy… or perhaps both.

Atkin narrowed his eyes, glanced to the three hostages, and then back at the door. He kept silent, a hint for the man outside to continue.

"We understand one of the hostages is injured, and in need of medical attention. Dr. Barnett." There was a brief pause, barely noticeable, before the man continued, "At least release him so he can be treated."

"He's being treated already," Atkin abruptly corrected, his entire posture becoming fierce, like a dog who felt his territory was under threat. Sam watched him, almost fascinated for a time. "Got a doctor and a nurse in here; both very capable, if you ask me. We're doin' just _fine_."

"Mr. Atkin, as I'm sure Dr. Lockhart and Nurse Taggart have already pointed out to you, they cannot administer the appropriate treatment in that room. If you were to release him–"

"Not going to happen," Atkin interrupted loudly, face and head fully turned to the door. "Now clear off."

"Mr. Atkin…"

"I said clear off!" Atkin emphasised his threat by aiming the gun's barrel towards the door and pulling the trigger. Abby – perhaps instinctively – ducked herself down and actually protected Ray as the gun let off a deafening crack like abrupt thunder, and during the subsequent smashing of glass, there came the sound of screams down the corridor, even as Sam backed away from Atkin as much as she could, bumping into the bed's rail a little. She kept her eyes on the large man, even as he lowered the barrel, yelling with fury, "I won't say it again; fuck off!"

Sam swallowed dryly, turning her eyes to her companions, just as Abby raised herself out of her protective position, with Ray looking from her, to the nurse, and then at Atkin. Sam heard the policeman call out, "At least consider, Mr. Atkin. We'll come back later." With that, there was the sound of shuffling feet, and Sam guessed they had retreated. She sighed, bowing her head for a moment, and lifting it again when she was certain tears were nowhere near the surface. She would _not_ cry. Turning herself to Abby and Ray, and away from Atkin – she suddenly found it difficult to even look at the man – altogether, breathing heavily to calm herself. Silently and inwardly, she prayed that they would find a way out… that the police would help them… that Luka would be there when they did. She didn't know when she had started to want him so badly in all of this confusion and panic, but nothing seemed more comforting to her in that moment than collapsing in the safety of his arms and hearing his voice whisper to her. Closing her eyes, she imagined that, and felt the anger and fear ebb and fade enough for her to concentrate again, opening her eyes to continue with her painful job of trying to help Ray without the correct equipment and drugs.

* * *

John and the others had ducked behind the desk when the gunshot had gone off down the corridor, and he half expected to hear a cry of pain… thankful to only hear frightened screams of patients nearby, and the smashing of glass. No one had been hurt, it seemed, and for that, he was overwhelmingly grateful. He let out a choked sigh, and emerged from his hiding place, next to Susan, seeing the police detectives come back towards them. They, for the most part, looked unshaken, but he was more than certain they were hiding whatever fear had swarmed them during that gunshot in their direction.

"For now," Steinbeck began, running a hand over his hair, "he's reluctant to release Dr. Barnett for treatment. His volatile nature makes it difficult to negotiate." Looking from John, to Susan, and finally to Weaver, he added, "We might have to consider extreme measures."

"And _what_ exactly, do you count as extreme measures?" he interrupted before Weaver could even open her mouth, though he did feel her gaze on him for a time.

Steinbeck considered for a moment, before saying, "Sending a team, perhaps."

"You can't do that," John said at once. "You said yourself, he has a 'volatile nature'. Sending a team… he'd kill the hostages." A powerful terror gripped him inside and refused to let go, like an iron fist that threatened to crush.

"Not if we acted quickly enough."

"And what exactly would you do?" Luka demanded as calmly as he could manage. John actually noticed Steinbeck shied back just a fraction from the tall Croatian doctor. "Go in guns blazing, hoping you don't hit one of the hostages?" The irritation at the delay was clear in Luka's heavily accented voice, making it more forceful and sharp.

"There are other alternatives," Steinbeck offered, raising a hand to stop any interruptions. "Such as gas."

"_Gas_?" Weaver blurted, cocking her head to one side. "What kind of gas, exactly?" It was clear from the tone she used that she already disapproved.

"Tear gas, for one."

"Out of the question. He'd still be able to use the gun!" Weaver snapped, her pitch rising slightly in a manner that John recognised from their clashes in the past. She did not approve at _all_; that was obvious.

"That is possible, yes, but at this point, we're running out of options."

"You only just started!" Susan reminded them disbelievingly. "How can you be running out of options already?"

John was almost amused that four doctors were beating back a detective in an argument he clearly should have had the upper hand in, and were the situation less grave, he had a feeling he would have smiled; laughed even. As it was, he refrained, and simply waited for the inevitable response.

"Listen… we're trying everything we can. Given the nature of the situation, and the severity, seeing as one hostage is already wounded, we're on a time limit."

"What kind of time limit?" Luka asked bluntly and rather abruptly.

"Please… we have the situation under control." Without another word, Steinbeck and his two companions turned and walked away. John's eyes widened slightly in shock at their behaviour, and he shook his head.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, hearing Luka mumble to himself. Either it was too quiet to really make out, or Luka had switched to his native language… at this point, it didn't really matter.

"Is it me, or does this just keep getting worse?" Susan grumbled petulantly, crossing her arms before covering her face altogether and leaning on the desk with a groan. John sympathised; he wanted nothing more than to hide away in a dark corner with some silence and privacy right then, but that was out of the question, he knew. Sighing, he settled himself next to Susan, and waited.

He was getting tired of waiting…

**_To Be Continued…_**


	12. Rapid Hope Loss

**Author's Note:** Okay, this chapter really kinda sucks, and it's short and has brief POVs… but it's a chapter… right? Sorry I've kept you waiting so long. I'll try not to do it again O.o No acknowledgements this time around... sorry; next time.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE: RAPID HOPE LOSS**

Sleep was starting to look more and more appealing with every passing second. They were striving to keep him awake and 'comfortable', he knew, but in the back of his mind, he knew only one thing… they were failing.

_He_ was failing.

"I can't do this much longer…"

He only realised he'd said it aloud when Sam hovered over him, looking him in the eyes and saying with as much compassion as she could manage, "We know, Ray… just keep it up, okay? You're doin' great."

_Liar_, he said on the inside, reluctant to put her down any further. Instead, the old Ray Barnett façade kicked in as best it could, and he nodded his head groggily, taking in as deep a breath as he could, but steadily so he didn't over-exert himself. It bothered him, not being able to move very much; he was normally a very active person, but now he neither had the energy or 'permission' to do anything about it, and so, he pretty much just lay there.

He was somewhat – and that was being generous – relieved that they hadn't had to change the bandage in… how long had it been? He was wearing a watch, but again, lacked the energy to lift his arm and check it. It would do him little good anyway; he couldn't really remember how long ago it had been, and when they had last done it. He sighed lightly. As he lay there, he let his eyes fix on the ceiling, and then suddenly recalled that he _had_ been counting the tiles.

_Dammit_.

He'd lost count. Frowning very slightly, and realising there was very little else he could do, he resigned himself to starting again. It would help to keep him awake, if nothing else, he supposed. Besides, he was determined to tell Sam just how many there were when they got out of here.

* * *

As Ray's concentration apparently fixed on the ceiling – and no doubt the tiles covering it – Sam looked to Abby across the bed. Abby looked right back, unsure of what to do. She had already tried 'reasoning' with Atkin, and that had failed miserably. In fact, her face was still a little sore from that attempt. Looking down at Ray, and then back to Sam, she lifted and dropped one shoulder; not in defeat, but at a loss. Without leaving the room, there was very little they could do apart from try to keep him comfortable, and Abby had a feeling they weren't doing very well on that front right now either. Without treatment, there was very little that would make Ray comfortable.

That, in turn, both upset and angered Abby. It took a lot of her self control in that moment to resist taking up the nearest heavy object and smashing it over Atkin's head. But she had no doubt she would fail in the attempt, and therefore, it would be a fruitless endeavour. Sighing, she checked Ray's vitals, and then the dressing on his wound. While she would not give either the title of 'fine', she was helpless to improve them in any way, without items kept beyond Exam Three. Frustration settled in once again, and she knew she had to sit… sitting down would – hopefully – help her to keep calm. Or calmer, at least…

Looking behind her, she saw a stool, and calmly set it down beside the bed, where she was in good view of everything: Ray's wound, his face, the monitor, and the IV.

Just because there's wasn't much she could do, that didn't mean she couldn't do the best with what she had.

* * *

While he had nothing against the nurse – Luka had called her Chuny – personally, he couldn't help but feel anger towards her. She was keeping him from leaving the room, which was about as interesting as his sneaker's heel at that moment. Perhaps even less so. He had wandered around, restlessly, countless times, with the nurse watching him. Her presence didn't help. The fact that his mother hadn't come to see him yet made him uncomfortable… there was something Luka wasn't telling him. Something _big_.

There was an unwanted soda sitting on the table, and though he had taken a sip initially – more for show than anything – it was far from the top of his priority list. He wondered if Chuny would be able to stop him before he'd lunged out the door. He toyed with the idea for a time, eyeing it calmly every now and again, though the ease with which he did so was falsified. The nurse looked to him.

"You hungry?" she asked him, for what had to be the fifth time since Alex had arrived. The child looked to her, paused, and then shook his head in a firm motion. Chuny nodded slowly, and her own eyes turned to the door. Alex had heard the noises outside, especially the gunshot. It had terrified him, and his basic instincts had almost driven him under a table in fear, but he'd managed to simply draw himself up into the chair he'd been sitting in, until he was absolutely sure he wasn't in any danger.

But that didn't mean his mother, or Luka, wasn't… what if they were hurt?

What if…

Alex sharply cut off his thought, and went back to his chair, sitting in it, and drawing his knees up, his arms hugging around them for a time. He peered over the tops of them, staring at the door, as if commanding someone to come through and tell them what was going on.

He had a feeling it wouldn't work, but he could still _try_.

* * *

Pulling his eyes away from the door to the lounge, he looked down into his mug. It was empty. When he had drank it all, he didn't know, but that was far from important. He set it down, next to the cold, abandoned coffee that someone had left there earlier, his eyes meeting Jerry's briefly. He sighed, and tried to offer a smile to the receptionist, but failed, though Jerry did offer him a brief nod in acknowledgement. Luka leaned back against the desk behind him, more or less certain that he wasn't sitting against anything important. The board was up, but if he wasn't careful, he'd probably hit his head on it. The charts sat to his left, unmoving for the most part. Neela, Morris and some of the medical students were tending to minor cases that were still in the area, but other than that, Luka had a feeling they wouldn't be seen to for a while.

_So much for improving our waiting time_, he thought idly, staring at the police and security as they moved around, seemingly with purpose and intent. He couldn't hear what they were talking about, and that bothered him somewhat. He had been troubled by their 'suggestions', even though Weaver had denied them permission… if she had any influence here at all… which he doubted. If they were going to go through with anything, they wouldn't run it by the doctors first. Their main goal was getting Atkin, Luka knew. He had never expected anything different.

For some reason, part of him wanted to head back to the lounge, and tell Alex everything… but he resisted. Whether or not the urge had sprung from the desire to simply _do_ something, he didn't know, but he couldn't go through with it. How could he tell a ten-year-old boy that his mother was trapped with a madman wielding a gun – if Atkin was indeed mad, which seemed to be the case from what he'd heard – and could quite possibly be injured? He couldn't do that… he refused to.

When Neela appeared beside him, he acknowledged her with a gaze, and realised she was offering him a chart, probably for his signature. He took it, without even really thinking about it, and listened as she rattled off her treatment and diagnosis. Their options for the former were limited, given their restrictions within the ER. They had to work with what they had, which meant that many cases were waiting as a result. He nodded as the resident informed him of symptoms and timing and the like, and then, after a muttered confirmation, signed the chart, handing it back to her, and turning the pen over and over in his hand for a while, if only for something to fill his hands. Neela paused and waited for a while, as if expecting someone to explain everything to her, but when Weaver glanced in her direction, she took the hint, and shuffled off again. Whether or not she took another chart, Luka did not notice, his eyes meeting Weaver's briefly. He saw in them the desire to demand answers and action; a desire that was no doubt mirrored in his own… not to mention Lewis and Carter's.

_Just be okay, Sam… please be okay_.

* * *

Steve Atkin moved away from the window that he had recently put a hole in, and looked back to the three members of staff in the room with him. Though they could not see it, Steve's breathing was somewhat increased in speed, and perspiration beaded his brow. If his pride and determination weren't holding him back, he would ask what these signs meant, but he had a fairly good idea himself… it felt like anxiety. But that couldn't be right… he was wrong. It was just the flurry of action that was making him feel this way. That was all.

He noticed Lockhart had sat down, almost as if she were resigning herself to the fact that she wasn't leaving this room until he said so. Taggart was still standing, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her head bowed slightly as if thinking. And Barnett was looking up at the ceiling… not that he had expected much from the young man otherwise. He was injured after all; his movement was limited.

Steve began to pace; slow but definite traces across the room and back again, never taking his attention fully from the hostages, wounded or otherwise. It wouldn't do to let his guard slip. Not when things were moving along at such a pace.

But where were they going? Where would they lead? What would happen to him?

In the back of his mind, a small question, in a weak voice kept asking, 'why have you done this?'… he had to ignore it. It was a voice of doubt, trying to weaken his resolve. It wasn't _his_ voice, and therefore, couldn't be trusted. He shut it out, though he still felt it there, and every now and again, it would sound faintly, though he was the only one to hear it. He did not react externally; showed no sign of doubt or weakness, or anxiety or fatigue. Every time he began to have any sort of reservation regarding his actions, he called up images of his wife, and her last moments. They were strong, and painful, and helped to conjure up certainty in him… he had to do this. He _had_ to keep going.

But the voice remained. It kept asking him where he would go from here; how he would survive; what he would do now… how he would _really_ feel if that young man died. It kept telling him that what he was doing was wrong, and that he had to give up.

The voice was filled with defeat.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	13. Help Wanted

**Author's Note:** Oh. My. GOD! TWO MONTHS! O.O I'm SO sorry! I had writer's block like you **_would not_** believe, and that's why I've been so… AWOL. I really didn't mean to leave all of you hanging like this, and it really wasn't fair. I won't do it again… hopefully, I'm over the block now, and now that they're repeating (most of) the last season in the mornings, I should get my inspiration back. I'm sorry!

**Mellaithwen:** Thanks very much for the points you brought up XD I appreciate that.

**ShastenRothe:** Thanks! (Long live angst!)

**acidicfairy:** I kinda hate Alex, but that's not the reason for keeping him in the dark ;)

**Trapped in a MatchBox:** Thanks:D

**Eponinehugo:** I'm glad you're enjoying it.

**Falling Star:** Late with your review? No worries! I'm two months late updating! O.O I think I'm 'naughtier' than you ;)

**LittleWing:** Yes, yes I did shoot Ray XD I'm very glad you like my pacing; I try to keep it like the episodes; fast and catchy but not so that you get lost. And I think Atkin needs more than 'some counselling', but we'll see XD

**darcy101:** Thank you!

**Scarlet:** Thanks, and sorry for the wait!

**Cuddlyheart:** I hope I haven't put you in a coma you by making you wait O.o Sorry!

Thank you all SO much for your patience! Here's the (VERY late) update!

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: HELP WANTED**

He would count these tiles even if it killed him… he was determined, and had never been one to back down from a challenge, no matter how trivial. Besides, it gave him something to do; something to focus on. Ray felt that if he didn't focus on something, for even so much as five minutes, he'd black out. While his side was no longer numb, it had now settled into a dull throbbing sensation, which — if possible — he liked even less. At least when he couldn't feel it, he could play dumb — if only to himself — and pretend nothing was wrong. When he felt that pain in his side, he was reminded of the situation, and he couldn't help but let a little panic into his mind… he was only human, after all. What human being wouldn't feel the slightest scrap of panic at being shot in the side? Even Atkin would have felt _that_… probably.

He saw Abby out of the corner of his eye, glancing at her wristwatch, and though he didn't hear it, saw her mouth move to form a curse. Her gaze travelled across the room, and he didn't need to follow it to know what she was looking at. Was Atkin staring out the window again?

If the police had a clear shot, why the hell weren't they taking it? Maybe Ray had just seen too many action movies, but that was how it worked on the big screen, wasn't it? How long had they been in here, anyway? He'd lost track of the time, and he wasn't comforted by that fact. To him, now, it had felt like hours on end… an eternity. In reality, it had probably only been a couple of hours if that.

He was just so tired… would they notice if he closed his eyes for a couple of minutes?

No. No, he had to stay awake. If he lost consciousness, they would have to intubate, and he didn't see any of that equipment in here, and there sure as hell wasn't anyone around to play fetch for them.

_So keep your eyes open, Barnett. This is no time for a nap._

Still, despite his own internal commands, it was so tempting. Just to let his eyes drift shut and relax for a little while…

"Counted 'em yet?"

_Busted_.

Turning his eyes but not his head, he simply quirked a brow at Sam, who graced him with a slight lifting of one corner of her lips; a very wan smile. He appreciated the effort, and then looked back up at the ceiling.

_Okay…_

A wave of nausea and intense dizziness overcame him then, and he shut his eyes tightly as if trying to block out an intense light, feeling his chest rise and fall with more intensity than it should have.

"Abby."

Sam had stood from her place, and laid a hand on Ray's shoulder, as if trying to comfort him; remind him he wasn't alone.

"Dammit," he heard Abby mutter, but almost as if he had something covering his ears; the sound was muffled, and it only increased his panic instinctively. Heat rushed through him, and a foul taste tickled at the bottom of his throat. "Ray, take deep breaths for me." Abby was checking the monitors and IVbut even with the muted hearing, he could tell his heartbeat was off… and rather noticeably. Blood pressure, at a guess, had probably dropped again, and panic washed through his mind like a flare again.

"Abby…" he ground out through gritted teeth. The taste was rising. He couldn't help but inwardly curse at his own body's internal bad timing.

His fellow intern paused for a moment. "Shit," she muttered after a moment. Ray felt the perspiration beading his forehead, and a shiver ran through his body. "Sam, the mask."

The nurse pulled the mask off.

"What the hell's goin' on?" Atkin demanded from across the room, and Ray opened his eyes briefly for what good it did him. Colours danced madly in his vision, and he could only make out vague outlines. He shut his eyes again, even as Abby answered without pausing her actions, motioning to Sam, who acted accordingly in response.

"The loss of blood; we need to get him out of here."

"Why'd you take the mask off?"

"Because he's… shit, Sam, roll him."

Sam's hand helped Abby rolled Ray to the side, where the nurse had been ready for him, even as the taste rose up fully, and he vomited.

* * *

"Easy, Ray." Abby gently ran a hand over his back as she openly glared daggers at their captor, her gaze saying it all; they had to get Ray out of the room, and if not immediately, then soon. "Sam, how's the saline?"

Turning her gaze upward, the blonde woman eyed the bag, before replying, "Needs changing."

Averting her attention to Atkin, who stood roughly five feet from the end of the bed, she explained as she would to a family member, but with an unmistakeable edge, "He's already lost a dangerous amount of fluid from the blood loss. We can't replace it as quickly as he's losing it now… _especially_ now." She nodded her head to the pan Sam held, even as she felt Ray give a shake. "Sam," she mumbled, not needing to say anything else.

They rolled him back, and Abby checked him over before applying the mask again. She could hear his breathing was off, not that the movement of his chest hadn't given that away; uneven and exaggerated.

"If we don't get him into trauma, we're going to lose him." She only lifted her eyes in Atkin's direction after making sure Ray was 'comfortable' again. Her gaze bore an intensity that he would have felt even if he hadn't been looking right at her.

"How long does he have?"

Abby hesitated.

"He's a big boy; he can handle it. Besides, I'm sure he's figurin' it out in his head already."

That question never failed to chill her internally, like icy fingers that crept through her stomach and left a trail behind them. She looked down at her friend, to Sam, and then at their tormentor. Her eyes had lost their fire, and her voice was almost resigned as she sighed and responded, "An hour without treatment and surgery… two at the most."

When she looked down at the bed, Ray was looking up at her. There was fear in his eyes again that she couldn't have missed, even if she had tried denying it to herself. Looking back to Atkin, she swallowed her own trepidation, and met the older man's gaze. "Please. I'm only asking you for one thing… just… don't let him die."

Atkin was silent for a long time, as if thinking, but he didn't break eye contact the entire time, except once to look down at the figure in the bed. "It hurts," he muttered to himself, and Abby knitted her brows, not understanding. "Losing someone."

Her gaze hardened a fraction then as she said resolutely, with the determination of a true doctor, "We're not losing him."

He glanced to her briefly before looking to Sam and then Ray. "Aren't you?"

Abby listened to his voice; studied it. She was no psychiatrist, but she knew regret when she heard it. She knew how to recognise the signs of a man breaking. She just hadn't seen any of them before, and she wondered how she had missed them… and then she realised how she had. She hadn't been focusing on Atkin. She had been focusing on _Ray_, as she very well should have been. Keeping the frown from her face, she took her eyes off the Englishman. He didn't deserve her sympathy… but then again, maybe he did.

_No_, she thought firmly. _Without a gun, he deserved your pity… but not now_.

Now, though she thought it could have been the worry for her friend coming through in her views, he deserved whatever he got.

* * *

Turning the coffee cup round and round on the desk, she didn't even realise she'd caused the cold liquid to spill until Jerry reached over and pulled some papers out of the way. She looked down, realised what she was doing, and muttered a guilty apology, pulling her hands from the mug's edges and handle. Sighing, she felt Carter to her left, and Kovac to her right. Weaver was just off in front of the desk now, watching and listening; ever astute. Susan envied her somehow… always so 'on top' of things. How did she do it? With a child in the mix now, Susan sometimes didn't know whether she was coming or going… and this situation really wasn't helping things.

The reporters still hadn't completely left the bay outside, the doctor noticed, turning her eyes in that direction long enough to see the flicker of the light on the top of a news camera. Vultures.

"So what are they doing now?" she found herself asking heavily.

Luka looked down at her, and then to Carter. "They're not telling us anything now."

"They're avoiding the desk," Carter added with something almost like dry humour… except without amusement. Hands akimbo, Carter looked ready to pounce into action, but still carried an unmistakable weariness… and something else. Susan studied him for a moment, and then glanced to Kovac, who met her eyes meaningfully.

Carter understood this all too well. Susan could only hope it didn't affect him when they needed his concentration the most. He had come so far in his time here; climbing the ladder and advancing in both expertise and position. It was inspirational, really; no wonder Mark had always admired the younger doctor so much.

Taking her mind off such nostalgic matters, Susan caught sight of the superiors discussing. She wished she could hear them, if only here and there; she wanted some clue as to what they were doing.

"This looks remarkably like sitting on their asses to me," she grumbled irritably, and to her side, she saw the darker-haired man nod in subtle agreement. He leaned forward, his hands finding the flat of the desk as he did so, making him somewhat less imposing. "Why aren't they doing anything?"

"He's already fired at them once. If he started with a full chamber in his gun, then he's got enough shots left to take out a few officers or maybe hostages if they try again without full preparation."

Kerry Weaver… why was she always so collected? Did nothing unsettle her? Or was she just hiding it under that superior shell of hers?

Of course, Susan didn't doubt that she would jump right in when the time came; she would get her hands dirty like the rest of them… always ready to save lives, do her job, and do the right thing. It was what Susan liked so much about the older woman. Sometimes it was hard to find anything else to like, but there was always that sense of duty and determination.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she lifted one hand briefly to rub it over her face with another sigh. This was taking too long. They were losing time they really didn't have.

Susan could only pray that Abby and Sam were controlling things from their side.

* * *

Greg Pratt would have gone and stood at the desk if he thought he could get away with it; if he thought it would help. There were still minor patients to see… though he couldn't understand why they hadn't been evacuated from the hospital along with everyone else. Headaches and coughs could wait… there was someone quite possibly bleeding to death down that corridor. 

Of course, a simple headache or cough could lead to the most unexpected of things, he knew. So here they were; the dogsbodies, cleaning up the mess left in the available areas. Nobody was leaving after they'd been examined and tested though… Pratt suspected it was Weaver's idea of keeping anybody from leaking secrets, though she would probably explain it away as making sure nobody was leaving while there was still danger of them coming down with any other symptoms, or something equally as useless. These people didn't need a hospital… all most of them needed was less hypochondria and more bed rest; less stress… they weren't going to get that _here_.

Glancing slightly to his left, he sighed. "Don't you two have any patients to see?"

Neela and Morris looked to him, both resembling deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car… a speeding one at that.

"Well?" he found himself pushing. He knew this was no time to be an ass, but they had to keep focused. They had to keep things moving on their side so everybody else could do their own jobs. The nurses milled about doing their part, but every now and again, everything would stop… or at least it felt like it did. Everybody would grind to a halt, and watch the people who were supposed to be diffusing the situation. All it seemed they had done so far was complicate things. The guy down in Exam Three with their staff members seemed more than a little unhinged, and their 'negotiators' had botched things once already.

"We've… Kovac and Carter have signed our charts," Neela fumbled, indicating the two tall attendings as if Pratt might have forgotten who they were.

"And there aren't any more?"

"The med-students are taking care of it," Morris offered.

"So what do you plan to do in the meantime?" Pratt asked, making sure his patient really _was_ out for the count before he continued, moving closer to the two younger doctors. "Stand around, wondering if there was something you could do; worrying yourselves about the psycho down the hall and the three people we all know stuck in there with him? Wondering what it would have been like if it were you in there instead? Thinking maybe something might have been different if it _was_ you?" He shook his head. "No. Nothing would have been different. Except maybe it'd be Abby, Sam or Ray out here standing around instead of you." Looking to them both, he pressed on, keeping his voice down for discretion's sake. "But you know what? They wouldn't have been. We all have to keep our heads; we have to keep moving and keep focused on _other things_. On these _patients_. Why? Because if we do, then we'll be ready when they come outta there. We'll be ready to take care of it. If we stand around staring and worrying, you know what you'll be good for when it comes time to get into trauma?"

A long, meaningful pause. "Nothing."

Morris and Neela both avoided eye-contact with Pratt for a long time, and then finally, with muttered apologies, they shuffled off, heading for the rack of charts. Pratt watched them, sighing heavily once they were out of earshot.

If the head honchos were going to stand around and keep 'on top of the situation', then somebody had to run this side of things.

That didn't mean he didn't want to stand around too though. He just wouldn't. Hostage situation or not, he was still — first and foremost — a doctor.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	14. Fade

**Author's Note:** This is me, grovelling at your feet, pleading and begging for your forgiveness. Writer's block is a mean, evil creature, and had me at its mercy. Procrastination is a product of the devil as well… I hope you'll all forgive me, and like this new chapter. There are only a few left after this one, but remember I _am_ planning a sequel. Regarding certain parts of this chapter, I had to guess about religion… they never make that too clear with each character, so I guessed.

Oh, and as of now, if you have any questions about my work that you really want answered, make sure I can contact you via email. I don't think we're really allowed to do review feedback/responses in-chapter anymore…

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: FADE**

Taking the chart in her hand, and pulling her pen from the pocket of her white coat, Neela sighed, face seemingly blank of emotion. Inwardly, she was panicking, but didn't want to show it. One of the women in that room was a friend; roommate even. Granted, it was Abby's place, but it wasn't only that Neela was worried about losing her residence in this chaos. She liked Abby… pretty much always had. In fact, if Neela was going to sound extreme, Abby was one of the only people she could call 'friend' in the hospital and beyond. With Michael off in Iraq, there weren't many others she spent time with socially.

While she wouldn't count Ray as a friend — in fact, he drove her crazy — she still didn't want him to die; she didn't want _anyone_ to die. She just wished they knew more; like where he'd been shot and how serious it was.

Swallowing her doubts and questions, she moved across the corridor to a woman who was sitting on a gurney, looking towards admin at all the activity. Her pale skin was lined to show her years, and her white-grey hair was tied back in a lazy but efficient ponytail out of her face. Beside her sat a hat and a scarf, and Neela wondered if it had started snowing… as was the norm in Chicago.

"Hello," she began automatically, and somehow managing a smile, even as she heard Morris start up the same routine down from her, "I'm Dr. Rasgotra. Mrs. Murphy, is that correct?"

The woman glanced to her with light eyes, and nodded. "That's right, dear." She wore two intricate rings on her wedding finger, Neela noticed, but there was no sign of a husband. And she wouldn't ask. The woman seemed quite old; in her sixties at least. It was very likely her husband had passed away.

"So, Mrs. Murphy, it says here that you've had problems with headaches and chest pains?"

The woman nodded. "That's right." Every now and again, her eyes flickered to the business in admin, all the while Neela trying not to notice it at all lest she get distracted. She went about listening to the woman's heart and breathing; doing all the routine checks that she had long since memorised. She jotted things down on her chart frequently to keep track.

"So, Mrs. Murphy, have you—"

"Please, call me Evelyn."

Neela looked up from her chart.

"Only salesmen call me Mrs. Murphy." She smiled, wanly but honestly.

"All right," Neela agreed. There was a pause. Neela had forgotten what she'd wanted to ask. The noises of the activity down in admin overtook Neela, and she didn't even realise how long she had been quiet until her patient spoke to her; voice soft and inquisitive.

"Do you know them?"

The young doctor looked back. "Pardon?"

Evelyn Murphy glanced towards the security and police, and the senior doctors, before turning her eyes back on Neela. "The ones in the room. Do you know them?" She paused, and when she received no response, she continued, "Are they friends of yours?"

A little thrown, it took her a moment to realise the patients had probably overheard what was going on. Unfortunate, but not unlikely; it had been inevitable really. From the moment that gun had first been fired, everyone had been distracted by the things going on down that corridor, even if they were nowhere near it. "Yes," she responded after a moment. "I know them." She wasn't sure if she should say much else. This woman may have seemed sweet enough, but Neela didn't really know her.

Evelyn took Neela's free hand, taking the younger woman a little by surprise, but she didn't pull away, even when something was put in her hand. "I've been praying for them," she confided quietly, looking Neela in the eye firmly and sincerely.

Neela almost frowned, looking at her hand when it was released. Of all things, it was a rosary. She nearly smiled; she didn't know what to do with this, and found herself saying, "I'm not even Christian."

"It doesn't matter who you pray to, dear," Evelyn told her. "Someone's always listening."

Neela lifted her eyes, met the old woman's, and smiled her thanks.

Praying… it had never even crossed her mind.

* * *

If Sam had been a particularly religious person, she would have been praying right at that moment. But as it was, she had lost her faith some years ago, and as such, didn't have much belief in any of it paying off. She could pray, but nothing would come of it; it would only be coincidence, if anything.

She debated asking Ray if he'd counted the tiles yet, but glancing to him made her realise just how unlikely it was that he would be concentrating on something so futile as how many tiles were still on the ceiling. He was probably focusing on staying awake; even if the meaningless task would help take his mind off the situation… it wouldn't take his mind off the pain he undoubtedly felt. It was all over his face.

Abby was silently changing the dressing, trying not to look at the soaked one she was removing, and just how bad the wound was; it was almost as if she had come to realise how hopeless it was… but Sam was determined to not let that happen.

"Abby," she murmured, catching her attention from where she stood. She didn't want to leave Ray's side in case he started to drift off, or felt sick again. "How is it?"

The other doctor looked up from fixing the dressing in place, and just stared, as if confused. She was exhausted. Her hair was falling from its ponytail, and she hadn't even bothered correcting it or fixing it back in place.

"How is it?" Sam repeated, a little clearer this time in the hopes that the delay was a result of her not asking plainly enough.

Abby sighed visibly, rubbing a hand over her neck. She didn't seem to notice that the action left blood on her own skin from her tending to the wound. Sam chose not to tell her. "I can't…" Her eyes flickered to Atkin. "This room is…"

Sam knew the feeling. She was seriously starting to despise this room; she hadn't realised how useless it was before.

Risking leaving Ray alone for a moment after touching a hand to the top of his head, Sam moved closer to Abby. "Just focus," she said pointedly but not harshly. "Don't let it get to you. Concentrate on the patient, okay?" She glanced to Ray, as if to assure herself he was still breathing. "We can't lose it now."

Abby looked to her, and stared for a while. After a while, she nodded, drawing in a deep breath.

"So how is it?"

* * *

He could hear everything going on behind him. He had taken his eyes off the three numerous times; increasingly in the last half an hour or so as he lost himself frequently in his own thoughts and doubts. Seeing Barnett react so much to the injury was starting to get to him, no matter how much he tried to deny it; that small voice in the back of his head was getting louder. But he heard their discussions all the same.

"If we don't replace the blood he's losing, and soon, he'll have lost too much. We won't be able to catch up." Lockhart. She sounded tired.

_I know the feeling…_

"Then we keep up the saline," the nurse responded. She seemed to be the strongest one now, despite being the lowest in seniority… if Atkin understood how these things worked.

_And I don't._

"The saline can only do so much. He needs the blood."

Sighing, Atkin looked to the hole in the glass; the one that he had made with the gun he still held in his now-sweaty hand. He glanced to it without moving it, and let out a slow, shaky breath. Clearly and painfully in his mind, he remembered seeing his wife for the first time after she had been shot. He remembered the agony of the delay. He remembered how much pain she had been in; the blood and the crying.

And then he remembered how focused and busy it had been once they'd arrived at the hospital. The name Carter had rang a bell in the back of his mind the moment he'd heard it… and he wondered if he had been one of the doctors to work on his wife. It was all blurring together now, and he glanced over his shoulder.

Barnett was, somehow, still awake, even though it obviously pained him to keep it that way. Taggart and Lockhart spoke in quiet tones, but not secretly… he knew that now. They weren't the types to plot against him, even if he had hurt their friend. No matter what he did to them, they were still, first and foremost, doctors and nurses.

_What have I done?_ He did move the gun then, and he noticed how the two women went instantly silent; he felt their eyes on him as his own fixed on the weapon in his hands. _What have I done?_

His vision blurred as his eyes welled. Shame and disgust filled him, but it didn't seem to be his own, while at the same time it was. It seemed to mingle with that of someone else; someone he could feel. He knew who it was, but denied it to himself as long as humanly possible, mainly because it was too painful to admit it.

He knew how much Celia would hate him now, if she knew what he had done. He inhaled shakily, and glanced to the three 'hostages'.

_What have you done?_

The voice was not his own anymore; it was _hers_. It was his beloved wife's. The disgust and shame… he never should have even touched this damn gun. He hated it now… hated it with every fibre of his being. He hated _himself_, especially when he heard Barnett's laboured breathing from across the room. His eyes found the three young staff members again, and he knew he must have looked almost apologetic.

_What have you done?_

It was over… no matter what happened now, it was over. He looked to the ring on his left hand. His wedding ring. After what he had done, it meant nothing now… he had betrayed his wife by coming here. He had changed; he was a different man. The Steve Atkin she had married had always changed the channel when such horrific stories came on the news. The Steve Atkin she married would never have touched a gun, or even thought of such disgusting, inhumane actions, especially towards another person.

Barnett hadn't done anything to him… if anything, Barnett had been trying to help him. He recalled, with crystal clarity, what the young doctor had said; what had spurred him into pulling the trigger. Irrational, and hasty, and filled with hate… spurred by such wrong, powerful, negative emotions. And now, because of him, that young man could die.

But if he left this room, he would either be shot, or arrested; he would never see the outside world again. He would spend the rest of his miserable life behind bars. And if Barnett died…?

He didn't have much choice left… he didn't have much left in the way of a life, either. He had cut it all horribly short, and stupidly so, by leaving that waiting room.

_What have I done?_

Moving across the room slowly but surely, he noticed how all three of them seemed to tense, even if the subconscious action made Barnett's face twist with pain. That, in turn, sent a jolt of horror through Steve… _he_ had done this. When he was no more than four feet from the bed, he looked to Lockhart, and then to Taggart.

"How is it?" he asked, needing to hear for himself. His own voice was far from steady; it had lost its strength and malice.

It was Lockhart who answered, watching him with confusion, "He's losing blood too fast. If we don't start replacing it soon, then he'll lose too much for us to catch up. He'll bleed out. The saline is slowing the process down, but…"

"He's losing too much," Steve repeated, in a kind of haunted tone. His eyes met Barnett's. He saw the fear there, and it sent a shock through him. Barnett was afraid of him… they all were. Afraid of _him_… and the gun.

There was nothing left… he had nothing left. He had ruined it all. Everything he had had left, he had destroyed for himself. He had ruined everything, and for what? This wasn't even revenge… revenge had never satisfied him. Even if he hadn't killed that young doctor lying on that bed, then he had killed himself.

Steve glanced towards the door, and then individually to the three others in the room. He felt cowardly now; weak and stupid.

This had to end.

His thumb moved and cocked the gun.

Barnett's eyes closed, and Lockhart and Taggart moved closer to him, almost instinctively as if to protect him.

Steve looked to the three of them, and lifted the gun.

"I'm so… _so_ sorry…"

**_To Be Continued…_**


	15. Mist and Shadow

**Author's Note:** As they say on chat-rooms and the like… 'omgwtf', we're getting near the end! But yes, sequel-part two-continuation-blah-blah-yadda-yadda. I've said it all before, I know. Thank you **_SO_** much to _everyone_ who reviewed! You would not believe how flattered and delighted I am by all your reviews and kind words, etc. It means very, _very_ much to me. More than you know. Anywho! This chapter… well, pardon the med-speak, because it's probably more flawed than my own brand of logic which is… frankly, non-existent. But I digress. Sorry if it's utter tripe, but I've been trying to learn from the show for _ages_, and I did my best.

Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: MIST AND SHADOW**

He hadn't heard anything of what had been going on for a while now, as Susan and John discussed quietly, trying to remain optimistic, while Weaver kept silent and watchful as always. Luka was lost in his own thoughts, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he did so, unwillingly trapped in memories from the past. Their faces, the last time he had seen them… heard their laugh… smelt her perfume…

When he heard the deafening crack of the gunshot, his head lifted at once, and Susan started in place, along with Weaver and half the security detail and police officers in the area… not to mention the patients. Screams of alarm, fear and panic came from all around, and the staff went to work at calming them down, as the doctors at the desk stared straight down the hall… just waiting…

If he didn't know any better, Luka could have sworn his heart had stopped, or leapt up into his throat and taken up residence. He felt like he couldn't breathe, his eyes wider than normal as his arms slipped slowly from being crossed, to land at his sides.

Not Sam…

He couldn't lose Sam…

_Please…_

* * *

Kerry heard the yell from down the hall, almost desperate. She heard this before the gunshot, but it still caught her off guard, making her body show her shock in a visible start, glancing to the police around her. There had been no cry of pain; no scream of agony or alarm from the hostages.

Using her crutch, Kerry moved out from behind the admin desk, passing Jerry's now-upright and horror-captivated form as she did so. Carter was behind her as she moved, parting the startled security men; her eyes never left the corridor, just waiting for something to happen. Kovac and Lewis didn't take long to cautiously follow suit, even as some of the officers advised them that they should go back behind the desk. They were all pointedly ignored.

The older woman let out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding when she heard the cry for help from Exam Three, and without hesitation, ignoring the demands of the police, she started to move. Carter, Kovac and Lewis did not waver, and followed.

* * *

"_No_!"

Abby only knew she was too late when the gun went off, and she stood there as blood sprayed across the other side of the room, grey matter adding to the gory display. Her breath caught in her throat, and she almost felt sick.

"Oh… god," Sam muttered, hands shaking noticeably.

Ray was actually almost sitting up in the bed, still wearing the mask as his wide, pained eyes stared.

Steve Atkin's body dropped, the gun falling from his hand as he landed first on his side, and then rolled to his back. Blood poured from the corner of his mouth at first, and then when he had finished rolling, from the back of his head… which he had blown clean off.

Abby moved shakily forward, swallowing a nauseating taste as she crouched and felt for a pulse she knew she wouldn't find. Taking her hand away, she rose and backed away, somehow unable to take her eyes from the body on the floor.

He was dead.

He'd killed himself.

She was so shocked at the body and the circumstances having led to this point, that she almost missed the sound of Ray slipping back into his former position, even as Sam called her name. Abby whirled, seeing the uneven, short, desperate rising and falling of Ray's chest as he struggled for air, even with the mask, and how his face had screwed up in agony. She dashed to his side, looking at the bandage, red through once again.

"Shit." And then, without hesitation, she cried out at the top of her lungs, for help; someone would hear. But until then, they had to get Ray out of this damn room. She unhooked him from the monitor, and motioned for Sam to deal with the saline IV, even as she unlocked the wheels on the bed. "Hang on, Ray. _Hang on_."

He didn't respond, understandably, focusing on keeping awake and keeping his lungs in operation. Abby could hear his breathing through the mask, and didn't like it one bit. It was too heavy, and he wasn't getting the oxygen he desperately needed for his body to keep from shutting down. And he was bleeding out, as they had known. Behind her as she and Sam moved the bed from the wall, she accidentally knocked over the tray she had placed the old, used bandages on, spilling them to the floor as they headed for the door.

Fumbling with the lock, she cursed before it came undone under her hand, and she threw the door open, helping Sam get the bed through. Looking up the hallway, she saw Carter and Luka first, with Kerry and Lewis right behind.

"Where's Atkin?" Carter called as he ran towards them.

"He—" Cursing internally, Abby steadied her voice. "Shot himself. He's dead." She motioned to Ray, and then met Carter's eyes almost desperately. But she hadn't needed to give any signals; the four senior doctors already saw the resident's condition, and Kerry was yelling for the nurses, even as Haleh came around the corner. The group wasted no time in heading to Trauma One.

Without realising, Abby had slipped her hand in one of Ray's.

_Hold on_.

* * *

Sam was still breathing too quickly for her own liking, in shock and realising how desperately she had never wanted to see… _that_. She had never wanted to see anything like that, but of course, she had never let herself think about it. Until now. She couldn't get the image out of her head. It wouldn't leave her alone.

Luka hadn't even pulled on a gown when he pulled her into him, holding her so protectively and tightly that she thought she might be crushed. But she welcomed it, and held him in return, her eyes squeezing shut as she breathed in his scent, the sounds of the room around her melting away, before she couldn't help but hear his voice.

"Are you all right?"

"I—I'm fine. Help Ray." She pushed herself away then. If she didn't push herself away, she wouldn't be able to let go at all, she knew. But that could wait.

"Alex is in the lounge." Turning he slipped into the gown a nurse offered out to him, the hectic but systematic behaviour and actions of everyone in the room confusing Sam's senses and making her feel dizzy.

"Sam, Abby," Weaver began, looking to the two of them as she started on her work, her crutch discarded for the needed proximity. "I think you should leave the room."

Sam said nothing, as Haleh rushed out of the room to collect the type specific Lewis had asked her to collect. Or go ask for… her mind was in so much of a muddle she couldn't even remember how their job worked. She was giving a hazy nod as Abby's voice sounded.

"I'm helping."

"No." This time it was Carter, and after a slight pause in which Weaver had looked to him as a cue. She would listen to Carter. "Abby, please; we've got it. We'll take care of him. Leave the room." He paused again, looking to her hand, entwined tightly and supportively in Ray's. He put his between them, replacing hers with his now-gloved one. "Leave the room…"

Even from where she stood, Sam could see Abby look at Ray, whose eyes were partially open now. Closing her own tightly, she forced herself to turn, and dragging her hands roughly through her hair, headed straight past Sam, and out of the room. The nurse blinked twice, looked to Luka — now focused on his work — and then turned to follow.

They couldn't do anything else for him.

* * *

The pain had gone from simply numbing and tingling to all-out burning and flaring in the space of a few seconds, when he had leaned up to watch Atkin blow out the back of his own head, and Ray knew…

"Where the hell is Haleh?"

Weaver. That was Weaver. He'd know that voice anywhere.

He felt himself rolled somewhat, and couldn't help but give a weak, half-stifled cry as Carter spoke out, "No exit wound. Somebody call Dubenko. _Now_."

The clatter of the phone and a rushed, familiar voice that he couldn't pinpoint. A nurse. One of the nurses.

"Someone get Neela and Pratt in here."

Kovac.

_That's a lot of people…_

He inhaled as deeply as he could, his lungs fighting against him for function or complete relaxation.

_Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay **alive**…_

The doors opened and closed. Rushed voices and actions all around him caused his mind to swim and blur together, even as he recalled everything in vivid flashes leading up to this point. Cleaning Exam Three, confronting Atkin, being shot… waiting, being laid on the bed… the machines and the bandages.

Ray tried to hear what they were saying; tried to focus on what they were doing, if only to keep his attention on something in the hopes that he wouldn't give in to the heavy desire to black out and let it all just take care of itself. He could barely see anything, even when he tried to look around. His eyes wouldn't focus; betrayed him.

"BP's falling."

Was that Chuny…?

"C'mon, Ray, who said you could quit on us, huh?"

Pratt… Pratt was here.

_At least it's not Morris…_

He managed to see the dark face leaning over him, even as his focused slipped even more, and it just became another shape under a halo of light from overhead; the same halo of light that made his eyes water and sting with the effort of trying to keep them open. He gave a whimper under the mask. What was happening?

He should know what was happening… he should have _known_. How many times had he been on the other side of this, so sure that this would never happen to him?

Countless times.

He felt his mind cloud even more, and his panic flared. No. He had to _stay awake_. If he didn't…

Ray felt his eyes close, and no matter how hard he tried to open them again, he failed.

He failed…

* * *

"He's unconscious." Greg turned, and took the tools in his hands that he had used so many times before. "I'm intubating." Nobody acknowledged him; they knew they didn't need to. He removed the oxygen mask from Ray's face, and quickly went about the procedure he had carried out hundreds of times before. "I'm in. Bag 'im."

Neela had been waiting, and attached the bag, immediately setting about giving spaced, carefully timed squeezes on it as the other doctors went about tending to the wound and other important matters, even as Dubenko announced his presence.

"I'd heard there was drama in the ER, but I just thought you guys were trying to get attention." He glanced to Kovac, and then looked to Weaver as the woman spoke.

"There's a time and place for jokes, Dr. Dubenko. This is _neither_."

"All right. What do we have?"

"GSW to the lower right extremity. No exit wound. He's just been intubated, but he's had little more than the most basic care for over an hour." Carter didn't look up from the wound the entire time he spoke, trying to focus on stopping the bleeding that Greg could see even from where he stood.

Dubenko nodded, turning and shooing someone from the phone so he could use it. He'd reached the identical conclusion then; Ray needed surgery. No exit wound, and that much blood could mean very little else.

Greg could hear the heart monitor from where he stood, ready should he need to switch in for anything — hopefully nothing so extreme as 'switching in' usually related to — and tried not to notice just how erratic it was.

He never had liked the phrase 'against the clock'.

Glancing briefly to Neela, and seeing her discomfort with the entire situation, he considered offering to take over, but if it came down to it? He knew it should be him to carry out compressions.

Hopefully that wouldn't be the case.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	16. Just Waiting

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay again. I got a job, and am in a play, and have a dozen other things to do. Watched the end of a very random old episode today, and listened to the soundtrack, and here's the newest — disappointingly short, in my honest opinion of my own work — chapter. Hope you like it, and thanks to everyone who reviewed.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: JUST WAITING**

Naturally, Abby hadn't even known Alex Taggart was in the lounge when she entered — or if she had known, she had simply forgotten — seemingly on his own now that whoever had been sitting with him had rushed off to Trauma. She moved through the door, reaching up to run her hands through her hair, fingers tangling in it painfully; she didn't even notice, Sam entering right behind her.

"Mom!"

Alex ran to Sam, who took him in her arms so tightly that it was a marvel the child could breathe at all. They clung to each other as if for dear life, and did not let go for some time. Sam's eyes closed as she buried her face in her son's shoulder, taking comfort in his presence. For a short time, Abby watched, letting the show of affection calm her as much as it could… which wasn't enough, she soon realised.

Leaving that room had been tough. She so badly wanted to help; she and Sam had known his condition better than anyone, and still they hadn't been allowed to stay. With everything that had happened, she couldn't comprehend that Carter's choice had been made in _her_ best interest. He wasn't being cruel; she was in shock. She just didn't know it.

Still, standing in the lounge with no knowledge of how the other doctor was faring was excruciating. Had they done enough? Was he still conscious? Would he survive?

Resigning herself to simply waiting, she collapsed into the nearest chair, folded her legs up in front of her, and dropped her aching head to her knees.

* * *

Sam had never been so relieved to embrace her son before in her life, holding back the urge to cry into his shoulder. She had come so close to leaving him alone… the thought of it was almost enough to make her break something. He wouldn't have been alone, she knew. His father would become the legal guardian, and to her, that was almost as bad as leaving him alone.

"Are you okay, mom?"

Finally bringing her head up, tears just brimming in her eyes, she managed a smile. "I'm all right." She reached up and stroked Alex's hair affectionately and reassuringly from his brow, looking him over as if _he_ had been in danger, and not vice versa.

Alex nodded, seemingly unaware of what he should say next. But after a while, he did speak; "Is everyone else okay? Luka wouldn't tell me anything."

_And he was right not to._

This wasn't a situation for a ten-year-old, by any means. Now though, she had to try and answer his question, without worrying him. Of course, Alex didn't know Ray at all, but that wasn't the point; doctors weren't supposed to get hurt. Nor were nurses. They were the ones who patched everyone up… that was their job. The couldn't get hurt… and they didn't die.

"Mom?"

There was no escaping it now. Her pause had betrayed her.

"Someone got hurt, but they're taking care of him now." She kissed the top of his head, in the meaningful way only a mother could. "He'll be all right." It was as much an effort towards assurance for herself as it was for her son. "C'mon." She stood, and moved for a chair, encouraging him silently to sit with her while they waited.

* * *

Neela busied herself with counting in the front of her mind, squeezing the bag connecting to the tube in intervals; pushing air into the body of someone she _knew_. Her dark eyes lifted and briefly searched the faces of everyone else, as numerous as they were. There seemed to be so many people… and it was clear why.

Abby had once told her about Dr. Carter's stabbing, along with a medical student who had died not long after. It had been a long time ago, but as her focus settled on Carter's face now, she saw the unmistakeable determination of someone who had a singular understanding of the situation. He had been on the other side of this attention; he knew its importance, and the atmosphere behind it.

They were taking care of their own.

She didn't hear anything, her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, accompanied by an odd, drumming whine. For a moment, she had been terrified of the meaning behind the whine, and her head had immediately turned to regard the monitor. When she had seen a rhythm, no matter how erratic, she had reminded herself not to panic. This wasn't the time to lose her head.

Of course, when she looked down at the patient they were so fervently working on, she couldn't help but feel that definite overturning of her stomach.

How could someone shoot a doctor?

Ray hadn't done anything wrong.

* * *

Commanding his brain to think of the situation at hand rather than his own experience many years ago, John worked on the wound, and stopping the bleeding, even as Dubenko came up at his side again, relaying that they were ready up in surgery.

Nodding just slightly, he felt Susan at his side.

"You okay?"

Again, he simply nodded, unaware of just how he looked. 'Desperate' would have been a good word for his expression at that moment. He couldn't _help_ but think about it… about Lucy. He hadn't had the chance to try and save her, but he would be damned if someone else on this staff was going to die, especially of unnatural causes.

It was an odd time to remember Mark Greene… but even as he worked, he recalled words of advice the man had given him over the years they had worked together; the constant support and confidence. It was like a lifeline, and he took hold of those words, using them to fuel his actions, even as he glanced up to take in vitals and the readiness of Pratt nearby.

He knew exactly what the resident was ready for, but it wouldn't come to that.

It _wouldn't_. Not if John had anything to say about it, along with everyone else around him. He wasn't alone in the powerful focus and determination, he knew; it wasn't hard to realise that, as he briefly looked to everyone's faces, before looking back to his work again.

Even with so many doctors on the case, it wouldn't be in _anyone's _best interest if he lost focus at that moment, while still trying to stop the bleeding.

Susan had stopped talking altogether, but she still glanced at him occasionally, as did Luka, and even Weaver. If he weren't so determined to help, then he would have left the room to escape their attentions; he knew what they were thinking. They were thinking it was too close to him, personally, with the circumstances; they were thinking it was affecting his judgement, given that he had been in a similar situation himself.

Regardless of that, he wasn't leaving, and he wasn't going to let it rule his actions. This wasn't him, and it wasn't Lucy.

* * *

His eyes lifted to the monitor as soon as the opportunity came up, and then turned to Dubenko and Carter, as he mentally confirmed what he thought was the case. They had stopped the bleeding enough for Ray to be taken up to surgery.

Almost immediately, the surgeon present snapped into action, taking over and dictating what had to be a mental list of actions and commands, even as Luka stepped back, along with Pratt, Weaver, Susan and Carter himself. Neela remained, still controlling the bag attached to the ET tube which gave the patient oxygen; she would head back downstairs when he'd gone into surgery, but she went without a word, and the doctors all stood, looking on as the others left. All those not essential for the transfer up to surgery were left standing in the middle of Trauma, taking a moment to realise what they were to do with themselves.

Luka turned his eyes to Carter, seeing the question in the other man's eyes, before he realised it wasn't just Carter… it was everyone. Had they done enough? Had their window of opportunity been large enough?

Would he survive?

Removing his gloves and gown, and tossing them into the disposal bin on the way out of Trauma, Luka said nothing. Nobody said a word. What could they say? These sorts of cases were too close to home to be discussed, and even as he moved, he knew it would be on everyone's mind until they received definite word of the outcome. He was trying to remain optimistic, but he had lost his wife and two children to tragedy; optimism was hard to come by sometimes.

The lounge was his obvious destination, knowing that he would find Sam there, along with Alex and Abby. Questions would bombard him as soon as he entered, even if only through eye-contact and not words, but they would hit him all the same. At that moment, all he wanted was coffee, and to collapse into a chair with the woman he loved, knowing she was safe.

Passing through admin earned him inquisitive, needy glances from almost everyone present. What had happened? He gave them nothing, and moved on without a word.

Letting the door swing closed behind him, he saw Sam's eyes divert to him immediately… whereas Abby's did not. She had her head down, and her legs up close to her chest, as if curled up against all that had happened. An old instinct to go to her flared for just a moment, before he remembered the nurse, and moved over to her, bending to kiss the top of her head, even as he perched himself on the arm of the chair.

"How did it go?" Sam asked in a quiet, drained voice, one of Luka's hands stroking over her hair comfortingly as they sat there, with only the ticking of the clock up on the wall for noise.

"He's gone up to surgery, and we managed to stop the bleeding. He lost consciousness, so Pratt intubated, but… at least we managed to stop the bleeding." Luka knew automatically that damage to an artery had to have been a concern for the two women who had been trapped in that room as well. If there was any definite damage — it was definitely a possibility, but if there was anything wrong with it, then it certainly could have been worse — then Dubenko's team would repair it up in surgery. A very gentle sigh slipped out of the blonde woman, showing she had heard, and was acknowledging his answer.

Glancing to Abby again made his brow furrow in concern. Speaking for only Sam to hear, he asked, "Is she all right?"

A shrug disturbed Sam's shoulders gently. Alex had dropped him head down onto his mother's left shoulder, almost like a very young child seeking comfort and reassurance in the presence of a parent. Luka smiled faintly, kissing the top of Sam's head again, before glancing to the clock on the wall, despite having a wristwatch of his own to refer to.

Now all they could do was wait…

**_To Be Continued…_**


	17. Pulse

**Author's Note:** Sorry this took so long, and I'm sorry if this chapter doesn't live up to expectations, but I had been waiting to find a specific episode or two of _ER_ that might have played on the TV, or that I have on DVD, but without knowing the names, that proved to be… impossible O.o Anyway, regardless of my lack of reference, I hope this chapter proves worth the wait, and it doesn't suck too badly.

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: PULSE**

There would forever be one absolute when Dubenko worked, and it was _actually_ a life or death situation; his concentration was unquestionable, and it showed in his eyes above the surgical mask he wore, his hair hidden by the cloth cap over his head. He had heard about the situation down in the ER not long after it had happened, and mainly because a general hospital worked miracles for one's gossiping instincts, but he hadn't expected it to actually reach this level; when he'd heard someone had been shot, he had perhaps expected — or rather, to be more accurate, hoped — a shoulder or leg injury, and not this. The rest of the team around him worked with the utmost urgency, but no one rushed. Rushing led to mistakes, and everyone knew mistakes led to… well, in this case, death. In most cases it simply led to complications, but when the circumstances had reached this point, there was only one complication that could arise. He was fairly certain he wasn't the only occupant of the room who was aiming to avoid _that_ complication.

Someone whose name escaped Dubenko's memory relayed Barnett's vitals to them in regular intervals, or whenever there was a fluctuation. Dubenko kept a mental record of them, remembering them with a surprising degree of ease; easier than the young woman's name, anyway, for some reason. He surmised, at that moment, that the vitals were just more important, and he was satisfied with that internal reasoning. She would know if he was addressing her due to the simple fact that he would _look_ at her when he spoke; names at this point weren't of importance.

He worked on autopilot; his experience made it easy for him to work through a complicated stream of motions and procedures without listing them off in his head, but his eyes rarely left his hands, and what they were doing, whether it be removing shrapnel from the bullet or stemming a new flow of blood; everything happened automatically, and he didn't question it. Surgeons had an array of weapons when going in to do their job; one of them was confidence. Dubenko wasn't ashamed to admit he had that, and in quite large quantities, depending on the situation. There was always that natural flicker of doubt in the back of the mind whenever he went into a procedure, but he had learned to quiet that small voice. He actually remembered when he'd talked Barnett through a particularly tricky process down in Trauma, after a man had been brought in following a particularly nasty accident with a speedboat. Barnett had displayed a suitable amount of doubt in that situation, but Dubenko had helped him through it.

Dubenko heard the variation in heartbeat before it was announced, and he, along with one or two of the others on the team, looked up, even as the temporarily-nameless young woman relayed what they all knew; his pressure was dropping.

_He's a stubborn young man_, the surgeon told himself, _he'll cope._

Of course, when that pressure continued to drop, and at an alarming rate, he couldn't help but rephrase that thought.

_Or perhaps he would if he hadn't been left to bleed out for nearly two hours._

Words shot across the room, one person speaking to another, all the voices crossing and carrying the same message; their time was running out, and if they didn't catch the problem now, then they would be too late.

Cursing internally when he heard the one sound all surgeons despised when in the operating room, Dubenko looked to the man opposite him.

Even as everyone picked up on the increased desperation of the situation, himself included, he tried to shut out the sound of the flat line.

* * *

Neela sat with Jerry at the front desk, spinning her chair back and forth just gradually; an inch or two this way, and then back again. Her eyes wandered with a false casual air about the admit area, scanning the board, and then taking her eyes from it when she saw Ray's name lined up with a couple of patients who might just be starting to wonder where their somewhat arrogant young doctor had gone. Sighing, she glanced at the receptionist — or rather, administrative coordinator, as he preferred to be called — next to her, noticing how he uncapped and then subsequently _re_capped a pen over and over again, as if he had nothing better to do.

She was very much in the same boat, as it were. She had treated a suitable amount of patients to earn herself some slack, now that the 'crisis' was 'over'. Of course, it was far from over, given that Dr. Dubenko had taken Ray upstairs. She hadn't been back down long, having been asked to leave when someone took over. Granted, it was an easy enough job to do, given that it entailed squeezing the bag at timed intervals, but she might have felt better if she had remained.

Or perhaps not… she supposed it all depended on the outcome.

Jerry glanced in her direction, and then she smiled faintly. "Coffee?" she murmured, and he nodded. She smiled again, standing, and heading off to the lounge to distract herself for a few much-needed moments. The staff milling about outside the lounge all had that look on their faces, and it was bad enough that Neela knew she was wearing it herself; she didn't need to see it in everyone else's expressions. Even people who didn't know Ray more than by smallest reputation, or through word-of-mouth, were wearing 'that look'.

Pushing into the lounge, she tried not to notice the sudden glances in her direction. Abby actually lifted her head, her eyes meeting Neela's before the latter headed for the coffee, taking a couple of mugs and filling them.

"Have you heard anything?" It was Abby. Sam, Luka and Alex — if she was remembering the child's name correctly — were silent as they sat together.

"No," Neela responded simply, but making an effort not to be blunt. She wanted to hear something too, but she had to remember that she wasn't alone there. "Nobody's heard anything." She glanced over to the blonde resident, seeing the weariness and hearing the sigh. She would have offered a smile had she known it wouldn't be completely false. Taking the finished coffees in her hands, she paused for a moment as if to say something reassuring, before uncomfortably remembering she had nothing to offer. With that, she headed back out, letting the door close behind her, and standing outside of it motionlessly for a few moments. Recollecting herself, she went back to her seat beside Jerry, and handed him the mug. He took it with one of his unique smiles, albeit somewhat forced, and poked at the computer's keyboard aimlessly.

Neela's smile was short-lived, and as she distracted herself over some 'abandoned' paperwork not far away, she felt the warmth from her coffee seep into the palm of her hand as it wrapped around the mug.

* * *

_When I said you were stubborn, I didn't mean it this way_.

Dubenko's eyes strayed quickly to the clock. Five minutes.

_Keep going._

The team kept working, focusing absolutely on the goal, which was more than obvious to anyone in the room. Everyone had their pre-assigned job to do in this situation, and they all kept to that, Dubenko included. One thing he had never been fond of using, despite their worth, was internal paddles, and he found himself briefly thanking the apparently-now-deceased shooter for aiming low. Of course, if he'd aimed much higher and to the side, or alternatively, much lower, than Barnett could have avoided these extremes. They all could have.

Returning fully to his work, having spared only an ounce of attention to his random thoughts, Dubenko kept up his part in the procedure.

_You can stop being stubborn anytime you're ready, Barnett…_

* * *

_Ray Barnett had never been a big believer in anything spiritual. After his father had left home when he was young, any time spent in church had just seemed like a waste of effort; he'd gotten out of it as any youth would… by simply refusing to go, whatever the punishment for the attitude might have been. As a result, he had more or less an absolute degree of atheism. Was there a God? He didn't think so. Was there a Heaven? He didn't know. Hell? The same. An afterlife? He didn't particularly want to find out…_

_But… there was something extremely surreal about the sensation of seeing your own body put through the pressures and strains of surgery; defibrillation and resuscitation. There was something alien about seeing doctors struggle over your vital signs and getting oxygen back into your lungs… getting your heart beating again._

_Was he watching himself die?_

_Ray Barnett didn't know… but he knew one thing._

_He didn't like it._

_For the first time in a **long **time, he felt like a child… like curling up under the bed and willing it all to go away; it was all a bad dream. It wasn't real._

_But he knew that blood was real. Those shards of bullet were real. The intubation tube, the paddles, the surgeons, the monitors and wires and sterilisation… it **was all real**._

_Ray Barnett was dying. And he was **seeing** it._

"_C'mon… c'mon…" He couldn't move from where he stood, but he could talk, unheard by everyone in the room, even as he thought things slowed, dragging it out unbearably. He stared at himself lying on the surgical table, motionless, his eyes closed, pale and bloodied. He couldn't stand it anymore. "C'mon!" he yelled at himself, still unable to move, despite his efforts. "Breathe, damn you!" Feeling a panic swell inside of him, he knew he could only will himself to survive; to breathe. His eyes never left his own body, fixed and desperate._

"_Breathe… c'mon… **breathe!**"_

* * *

Blonde hair escaped from the ponytail as she sunk her head forward to her knees once again, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

"Abby," called a soft voice across the room, and she merely acknowledged with a gentle, feminine grunt. "Abby… get some rest. We'll wake you if there's any word."

Luka was trying to help. She knew that, but it didn't stop her from wanting to tell him to shut up. She was tired, she was hungry, she was stressed and panicked; she _couldn't_ rest. She wished she could, but until she knew everything and every_one_ would be okay, she couldn't.

Fighting down the infuriating urge to find something alcoholic, she pulled her head up and rested her chin on the top of her knees, meeting Luka's concerned gaze from across the room. "No. I'll wait," she told him wearily, her words seeming to drain her even more.

The tall doctor hesitated, and then he nodded, pulling Sam a little closer to him, and kissing the top of her head. Abby distracted herself by remembering how that felt, before realising how inappropriate that might be. Her thoughts returned to Ray, and she actually glanced up, as if some sudden superhuman ability would enable her to see through the floors overhead, to whatever was happening in surgery.

* * *

His eyes lifted again, meeting the face of the clock. Nearly eight minutes.

_Keep going_.

Everyone kept going. They kept working.

Seconds seemed to stretch into hours, and Dubenko actually found the deception agonising, continuing his attentions vehemently… almost obstinately. He couldn't give up, not yet. He had no concrete reason to give up, and until someone forcefully ordered him to, he wouldn't stop.

And then suddenly, he heard it. He turned his eyes, and he saw it. The monitor had jumped back into life.

"We have a rhythm."

Dubenko looked to the woman.

Her name was Sandra. He smiled at the sudden recognition, wondering why he had recalled it now of all times, and then back down at Barnett, before returning to the original task of repairing the damage.

_About time._

_**To Be Continued…**_


	18. Signs of Life

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I hope this one wasn't too long in coming for you guys (oops, over a month?), and I hope you like how it turned out. I'm not so thrilled about the end of this chapter, but I couldn't think how else to wrap it up. More coming soon, hopefully.

Something I forgot to do in my last chapter XD England has only just gotten Season 12, and as a result, I have only just seen episode "**12x02: Nobody's Baby"**. If everyone could refrain from mentioning details/spoilers from episodes beyond this point, I'd be much obliged :) Thanks.

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SIGNS OF LIFE**

Abby had all but fallen asleep without realising when she heard Luka rise from his chair across the room at the sound of someone opening the door to the lounge. Forcing her eyes to open wearily, she looked across the distance, seeing that Sam had fallen asleep and was now rested against the cushions of the chair she had been sitting in with the tall doctor, her son laying against her gently as he too slept. Her eyes then drifted to Luka, who was standing near the door with it half-closed behind him, talking with someone Abby couldn't see. She rose from her seat, causing her stiff limbs to protest, and glanced at the clock.

Somehow, she'd lost over another hour without even thinking about it.

Approaching the two conversing doctors — for it was obvious that was what the other individual was — she tried to listen in on what they were saying, and only heard the words 'surgery' and 'complication'. Her heart froze in her chest, and she paused in stride, not hearing or seeing anything for a while as scenarios flashed vividly through her mind. What complication? She needed details, and fast… she wanted answers.

Luka came back into the room, turning to almost knock Abby over, having not seen or heard her rise and come up behind him. He stifled a curse, and then sighed, running his hands through his black hair before looking to the intern. She tried to read his expression, realising shortly afterwards that she was too tired to do so properly. She sighed, shrugging her shoulders, before saying in a low, curious voice, "Well? What was that about?"

"We got word from upstairs," Luka told her, glancing to Sam as if to check whether she was still asleep.

Abby came very close to swatting at Luka impatiently before she managed to calm herself enough to say instead, "And?"

"There were some minor complications, and his heart stopped for a few minutes, but… he's fine. They repaired the damage, and he's been transferred to recovery."

What she wanted to do right at that moment was collapse back onto her chair again in relief, but considering it wasn't right behind her anymore, she had to refrain, instead giving a large, loud sigh of relief, and dropping her head forward. Her hand rose to run over her face, and then brush back her hair, twisting her messy ponytail for a few moments, before she found her voice, "Thank god…"

Luka laid a hand on her shoulder, and smiled faintly, nodding his head. "You did a good job, Abby. Ray's going to be fine."

Without even realising, she leaned forward, finding herself against Luka for support as he embraced her gently.

Ray was going to be fine.

And in a few minutes, Abby was pretty sure she would be too.

* * *

The tension in the ER as a whole had faded, but not dissipated completely. The news that Dr. Barnett had gotten through surgery with only minimal complications had come as a relief to many, even if he wasn't the most popular staff member in the hospital. Everyone was getting back to work, as was expected, though it was a rough ride; Exam Room Three was sectioned off and taped by the police as a crime scene, and security had not stopped manning the halls, waiting room, and hospital in general.

Susan sat at the computer beside Jerry, who had taken it upon himself to order pizza… peculiarly. She wasn't arguing, a slice sitting on a paper plate beside her at the keyboard. Kerry Weaver had remained downstairs to help with the build-up of patients, but all-in-all, there was no clashing of horns… no disagreements. Now that they were once again open to trauma, things seemed to be getting back to normal. Luka had agreed to check over Abby and Sam now that the danger and wait were passed, and he had not long ago emerged from the lounge to tell her that they were both fine. Shaken, but otherwise unharmed.

Before an hour had even passed since they had heard from the surgical team, Susan looked up to see a very haggard Abby walking up to the desk. She came around behind it, and stood near to the other woman, waiting. Lifting her head, she looked at the younger doctor, and quirked a brow. "Everything all right?"

"Can I go up?"

She should have seen that coming a mile away, she realised, and she even smiled. "Abby," she started, seeing the way the addressed woman's shoulders slumped just at the sound of her name in that light tone, "he's only been out of surgery for less than an hour. He'll be in recovery. He's still unconscious, and on top of that, he was intubated, remember?" She sighed, laying a hand on Abby's arm. "There wouldn't be much point in going up there right now, even if they _did_ let you through to see him."

"I'd be able to see for myself that he's okay."

"He _will_ be okay," Susan emphasised, smiling faintly. It was true that Ray had survived the ordeal, and surgery, but she knew as well as anyone else — perhaps not as much as Carter, who knew these things from a completely different perspective — that he wouldn't be back to himself for a while, let alone back at work. She sighed; either he was going to be spending a lot of his recovery time reading, or he was going to miss a lot of valuable teaching cases down here in the ER. But, she knew that wasn't the most important thing. So long as he pulled through, then he could get back on track… even if he _was _a little rough around the edges most of the time.

"So… when can I go up?" Abby sounded exhausted, and understandably so.

"How about this?" Susan began in a compromising tone of voice, "You go and lie down; get some rest…" She knew it would be pointless to suggest that Abby go home, because it would simply be ignored as an option. "Take a shower and change into some scrubs maybe, and then you can go up. Give his body time to recover from the surgery. He won't be awake for hours."

With a heavy sigh of her own, Abby was otherwise silent for several moments, eyeing the slice of pizza as if she had never seen something so peculiar in her life. And then she spoke, in a weary, resigned voice, "All right." Her head nodded up and down, and her fingers worked through the tangles of her ponytail. Susan smiled, and nodded.

"All right," she echoed, all attention on the computer forgotten. What had she even been looking at? She had no doubt that Jerry was listening to them, but there was little she wanted to do about that.

After a few more moments, Abby turned and headed away, moving in the direction of the rooms the doctors usually used for sleep during their shifts. Susan watched her for a moment, turning to Haleh after a moment to tell her that no one should wake Abby unless Susan said so. Haleh confirmed, and moved off, even as the sound of an approaching ambulance turned her eyes back toward the doors. The reporters were still out front, trying to get the big scoop, but they were simply being herded further and further away from the hospital itself; within a couple of hours, they would all have given up, and left. Thankfully.

"Morris," she called, seeing him out of the corner of her eye, "we're up."

* * *

Hours had passed, and she had heard from the older residents that she wouldn't be the first to head upstairs. Sam had already been up once to see if everything was all right, apparently, and other than that, there was only one other person who had been up this way from the ER. Neela knew very well who that was, without even having to ask. She walked quietly, as if heavier footsteps would disturb someone, and soon, the doors came into sight. Her eyes took in the sight above it, and before long, she was pushing them open almost hesitantly.

She was pointed in the right direction by a very calm nurse with a warm smile and sympathetic nature, and Neela glanced over her shoulder as she walked along the path indicated, seeing the nurse watching her, as if concerned the young woman might lose her way. Deciding to push it from her mind, she hovered outside the door for a moment… and then pushed it open.

The lighting was low, and there were three figures already inside, including the one laying on the bed. Sam was standing near the foot of it, her arms crossed over her chest, and her head turned at the sound of the door closing again. Abby was sitting in a chair nearer the head of the bed, silent and still obviously weary. Her hair had been washed out, and pulled back into a rough ponytail once again, and she was wearing green scrubs, as opposed to the clothes she _had_ been wearing upon entering the hospital before the entire mess. Neela wasn't even sure how long ago that had actually been, but she knew it had to have been about twenty-four hours, almost, unbelievably.

"How's he doing?" she asked in a little more than a whisper, addressing Sam. The nurse drew in a heavy breath, and let it out slowly and steadily.

"He hasn't woken up yet, but they reckon he's out of the woods. They're getting his fluids back up, and keeping an eye on his BP… stuff like that." She idly scratched at the side of her head for a moment, and then returned her arms to their somewhat defensive position across her chest. Abby had barely even blinked.

Neela bit on her bottom lip for a moment, turning her eyes finally, and fully, upon the patient in the bed. To see someone from their 'team' on this side of the treatment was something she knew she would never get used to, but as she looked down at Ray, she also knew that she would never see him like this again… and never wanted to. This was Ray at his weakest point; his most vulnerable, and she was more than aware of the fact that he would hate the three of them standing around him like this. Were it his choice, he would never let _anyone_ see him like this; fragile and beaten.

Beaten but not broken, she reminded herself.

The three of them remained in silence around the fourth figure, unmoving and surrounded by quiet save for the rhythm of the heart monitor beside the bed. Neela focused on it, taking subconscious note of its re-gathered steadiness, and though she could still pick out weaknesses in its sound and spacing, she took comfort in the fact that it would only get stronger; it would return to normal. She was inwardly relieved she hadn't had to hear the sound of his flat-line…

"Sam?" came a soft, accented voice from the door, and the two women standing turned their eyes to the doctor leaning through it. "Alex is awake. He's asking when we can go home…" There was no pressure for Sam to leave in Luka Kovac's voice, but there was a certain fatigue in his own posture and expression. The nurse glanced once back to the woman sitting beside the bed, and the man lying in it, before she nodded.

"Okay." She moved a little closer to the bed, and to Abby herself. "I'll come back later, okay? Say hi for me?" There was an odd motherly edge to her voice that Neela almost admired, and it brought a faint smile to her lips.

Remarkably, Abby nodded, and even spoke, "Sure." Her eyes turned from Ray's unconscious form for a few seconds, to meet Sam's gaze. "Thanks."

Sam touched a hand to the top of Abby's head for just a moment, and then glanced to Ray without saying a word. And then she turned, and moved for the door, even as a loud noise shattered the quiet.

"Bollocks," Neela muttered under her breath, pulling the pager from her belt. Sighing when she saw it was the ER, she glanced to the others almost apologetically. "I'd better go," she mentioned quietly, and together, she, Sam and Luka left the room, leaving Abby alone with the resting intern. Neela only hesitated once outside the door, before jogging for the elevators, or the stairs; whichever would get her downstairs quicker.

* * *

Slouching wasn't usually in her nature unless very close to complete exhaustion, but right at that moment, there wasn't exactly anyone to hold up appearances to, and as such, Abby saw no point in keeping her posture and feminism at its utmost. Slowly, she glanced to the monitors, watching the heartbeat register in those familiar jagged lines, and watching the numbers alongside it fluctuate only slightly ever now and again. It was comforting; he was improving, even if only at a sluggish pace.

Her eyes moved back to the man connected to the monitors, and the IV. She was well aware of the fact that he would probably hate her sitting here beside him, keeping watch, but even when he woke up, there wouldn't be anything he could do to make her leave. She had no desire to go home. She had no desire to sleep. She had no desire to do anything apart from sit beside his bed, and make sure he was all right.

Her gaze fixed on his face, and even in the low lighting, she could see the pallid quality of his skin; how pale it was. His eyes were closed, but once or twice, she had seen slight movement, whether it be along his brow, or behind the lids themselves; she took those as good signs. He may not have been conscious, but he was active, internally… not that she had reason to suspect otherwise. She could hear his breathing, the intubation tube still in his mouth and subsequently down his throat. Any blood that had been on his hands or elsewhere other than surrounding the wound had been cleaned away, she had noted upon entering, and she silently thanked whoever was responsible for that. It was bad enough seeing him in this condition, but to be reminded of just why, and how bad things had gotten, was not something she was keen to experience. Ray's hair had lost its usual spike, and now simply lay in various stages of dishevelment and disarray, dark and almost limp, as opposed to the near-feral rebellion she was used to. It was all of these things added together that made her realise just how much this would change his life, even if he would never admit to it.

The extensive time he would have to take off from work, willing or otherwise; the treatment he would receive as a result of his injury; the potential of counselling, prompted by senior staff members to ensure he wasn't psychologically affected by the trauma; how he would be treated by the others when he came back…

It would never be the same for him, no matter how he acted.

Even as she sat there, her gaze moving over his still form — save for the slow rise and fall of his chest — a flicker of movement caught her attention. Her eyes moved down his arm, past the IV, and then fixed on his hand.

The fingers shifted, not too unlike a tremble.

Abby's posture changed at once, and she sat more upright, eyes lifting to his face. Her ears picked up the faintest trace of a groan, and even as she watched, his brow creased definitely. His eyes closed more tightly, as if he were simply reluctant to wake up from a dream he had been having.

Ray was regaining consciousness.

* * *

It wasn't entirely unlike hearing the alarm clock before rounds, dragging him out of sleep, though groggily and reluctantly. Everything was muffled and harder to make out than it should have been, but slowly, it started to clarify; a regular beeping that quickly started to grate on his nerves, no matter how lethargic and drained he felt. His head swam with confusion, discomfort and a slowly-building flicker of something…

Memory.

He started to remember what had happened… what he had gone through… where he _was_.

Steadily, his eyes opened, slow and almost warily. The first thing he saw was the ceiling, as low as the lighting was. His focus struggled, and wavered, but concentrating soon resulted in it clearing up, and before long, he could make out the tiles overhead. He had a brief flash of recollection, when he had been struggling to count them in Exam Three.

"Ray?"

The sound of someone saying his name dragged his gaze to the left, his head heavy and difficult to turn, and he saw Abigail Lockhart sitting beside him. He swallowed, finding the action awkward and even painful. He groaned, shutting his eyes, and realised just why he couldn't bring himself to respond.

There was a tube down his throat.

And he wanted it out.

As far as he could tell in his current state, he wasn't having trouble breathing; his lungs worked, and didn't need the assistance. Looking back to Abby, he wanted to ask her questions, but knew he couldn't until the tube was out.

"Yeah, I know," Abby said, even as she turned her head to the door. "We're gonna take it out, Ray, hang on a minute."

Either she'd understood his gaze, or she knew him better than he'd realised; was it really that obvious that he would be so keen to get the tube out?

The door opened, and someone entered; he guessed a doctor, but it could very well have been a nurse, he knew.

"He's conscious?" came a female voice, and after a few moments in which he guessed Abby had nodded, someone came to the other side of the bed. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Dr. Barnett." The woman smiled, grey eyes behind dark bangs looking down at him. He had no idea who she was; had never seen her before in his life… or perhaps he had, and simply couldn't remember.

"Can we get the tube out?" Abby asked, and Ray heard the exhaustion in her own voice. How long had she been sitting there?

"Of course." The woman set down the chart she had been looking over, but Abby stood from her chair. Without saying a word, Ray knew the other intern had communicated her question as to who would remove it. The as-of-yet-unnamed doctor waved a hand briefly, but not rudely, saying as she did so, "Go ahead."

Abby looked down at Ray, smiling faintly for a moment. "Okay, you know how this works, Ray, so work with me." She was readying the tube to be removed, speaking as she did it, to keep his attention on her. "On the count of three, cough, all right?" His head moved weakly up and down in some semblance of a nod. "Okay." She had hold of the tube, and without even realising, Ray was cringing… he'd done this to enough patients to know it had to feel wretched… and he was about to experience it first-hand. "One… two… three."

As hard as he could, he coughed, and exhaled forcefully, feeling the foul sensation of the tube being removed. It scraped up out of his throat, and out of his mouth, and at once, he descended into awkward, dry coughing, eyes screwed shut and face twisted into a grimace. A foul taste invaded the back of his mouth, but Abby was quickly urging him to take deep breaths, and offering him water.

When he'd drank enough of the water — only in sips — to ensure he wouldn't cough anymore, or provoke any other kind of reflex, he groaned quietly, and exhaled slowly. His jaw ached, and his throat was sore, but already, he was grateful the tube was out. He would approach the removal of those from patients with less nonchalance in the future, after being on the receiving end of the process.

Abby raised the head of the bed enough for him to not feel as though everyone was bending over him, and then, perhaps quite without realising, brushed some of his hair from his forehead with her hand. Ray didn't question the action, or protest. He was too tired, and felt nothing in the way of reluctance at that moment, and glanced from one woman to the other. He had so much to ask before, and now that he _could_ speak, he couldn't think of what to say…

"I'm Dr. Langley," the woman said finally, when she realised no one else was to speak. "I've been keeping an eye on your vitals since you got out of surgery, and it looks good. Your blood pressure is rising again, and your pulse is steadying out. We're working on getting your fluids back up, but other than that, we're confident you'll make a full recovery in time."

Ray's brow furrowed. "In time?" he managed to say after a while, instantly hating the somewhat scratchy quality of his own voice.

"I won't lie to you," Langley persisted. "Your injury, as Dr. Lockhart knows, was quite severe, and there were one or two complications in surgery."

"I flat-lined," he found himself saying, and then frowned in confusion afterwards, even as Abby and Langley exchanged somewhat puzzled expressions.

"Yes… you did, but obviously not for long." The darker-haired woman seemed bemused as to how he had apparently known this information, but breezed past it, "But the point is, this isn't something that's going to go away in a couple of weeks, as you well know." She looked down at him as she spoke, meeting his eyes fully. "We're talking weeks of recovery. I don't see physical therapy being necessary, given the location of the injury, but it's going to take time, and you're going to have to let it run its course. You're not going to be able to speed this up." She looked at him with something not too unlike sympathy… and Ray instantly hated it, though he refused to show his dislike for it. She was only trying to help.

"How long am I…?" he began, looking to Abby.

"Off work?" she finished, and he lay there wondering when she had started being able to read his mind. "I'm not sure. But… I think it's gonna be a while, Ray."

His head slumped back against the pillows fully, and he sighed, wincing for a fraction of a moment. Regardless of how he often approached his work, he was far from excited about having to spend a long amount of time away from it…

Abby and Dr. Langley continued to talk over — and even to — him, but he assumed they needed no actual answers. When he didn't respond, they continued as if he were simply listening, and not thinking about how much his life was going to change… and not only because he was headed for weeks of 'unemployment'. It was going to drive him crazy.

_**To Be Continued…**_


	19. When My Mind Is Frozen

**Author's Note:** I know… _I_ need to be shot, not poor Ray; it's been that long since I updated this thing. Here's me hoping you haven't all lost interest by this point, because I genuinely am sorry. I got myself stuck for how to continue, and a lot of the beginning of this had to be rewritten because I was so _unhappy_ with it O.o Yeah… anywho, here's the update. Better late than never…? Yeah, sucky thing to say, heh…

* * *

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: WHEN MY MIND IS FROZEN**

It had been a couple of days since the chaos of the attack, and after being forced home to rest, shower and get a good meal, she soon found herself back in the hospital, perhaps rather predictably. She'd been given a few days off to 'recover', along with Sam, but found that she didn't want to stay at home. Staying at home meant her mind wandered, and she was no more wiling to let that happen than she ever had been; Abby despised having nothing to do. She'd never gotten used to the feeling, and as such, had always hated it, even when she was a child.

Heading back through the doors into the hospital, she saw familiar faces hard at work, and mustered a smile as Carter looked up at her.

"What're you doing back?" he asked the woman as she came up to the desk, standing in front of it as opposed to moving around behind it out of habit. He'd been using the computer, and as such, was standing there almost as if he'd been waiting for her to come along. Abby wouldn't have been surprised if he _had_ been expecting her. "I thought you had a couple more days off."

"I do." She slipped her hands loosely into the pockets of her coat, and shifted on her feet. "I thought I'd…"

"Come back in and check on Ray." It wasn't even a question, and Abby's somewhat sheepish smile no doubt confirmed any suspicions he had probably had to begin with. Carter glanced to her calmly. "Well, he's certainly not lacking for company…"

Even before Abby could ask what he meant by that, someone came up beside her, and touched her arm subtly to get her attention. Turning her eyes, she saw Neela. The other, younger doctor offered her a smile, and then glanced to Carter. Looking back to Abby, she said, "Heading upstairs?"

A nod was her minimalist response. Gazing one more time to Carter, she turned and headed for the elevators, Neela walking alongside her. "You on a break?"

"Yeah. Figured I'd head up and see how he's doing."

Abby laughed quietly to herself, and then the sound trailed off, having never _truly _manifested to begin with. She sighed, almost wishing she didn't have company.

"I think sitting around doing nothing is driving him crazy," Neela continued. Abby nodded again, pressing the button as they reached the doors. It was only a short wait before the elevator arrived, and they stepped aside to let a bed be wheeled out, no doubt coming down from x-rays. Stepping in, she pushed for the right floor. "You okay?"

"Hmm?" Abby looked to her friend, and then smiled, feeling a little ridiculous for being so quiet at all. "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine."

Neela quirked a neat, dark brow. "You don't look fine."

"Neela…"

"Sorry." She smiled faintly, even as the doors opened, and they headed out. Down the hall they walked, side by side, quietly. Abby's mind, for possibly the hundredth time since it had all happened, replayed the events, over and over, more vividly in certain places. Shaking them off as they came up to the right door, she glanced through the open blinds on the other side of the glass, and then pushed through slowly.

Bored obviously wasn't the right word for how Ray Barnett was probably feeling. Abby walked through the doorway, and offered a smile as he glanced in her direction. The way he returned it seemed almost forced; as if he didn't genuinely feel the expression at all. Abby's own smile faltered a little, even as Neela followed her inside, closing the door quietly behind her.

"How are you?" Abby asked, coming up to his bedside. She automatically glanced at his vitals, which had improved, if only a fraction, since the last time she'd seen him.

"I don't think I've ever sat still this long," he replied, and she noticed the weariness in his tone. Her smile faded completely after that.

Neela came up to Abby's left. "Your vitals look good," she commented, and then cleared her throat almost awkwardly as if she wished she hadn't said that out loud.

Ray glanced at her, and then returned his eyes to where they had been focused for most of the time they'd been in the room. Abby wasn't sure whether it was the very end of the bed, or his feet under the sheets. She furrowed her brow, and then glanced to him. "Ray…?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled, glancing to her and offering another one of those faint smiles. With a sigh, Abby sat herself in the same chair she'd used for her vigil before he'd regained consciousness after surgery. She didn't know what to say, and apparently, neither did Neela. The other resident stood there, crossing her arms lightly over her chest, and looking around the room.

* * *

In the middle of checking the board, and initialling one of his patients with a swift 'A.M.', he turned to the rack, and started rifling through.

_Okay, what do we have here? Vomiting and d— nope. Chest pain? Ugh. It'll do._

He pulled the chart out, and checked it over, flipping the page, and then returning it to its place, even as two women came up behind the desk, one of them looking more or less how he always felt after a few too many beers. Abby had looked better, definitely. Not that he was judging.

"How's life up in recovery?" he found himself asking as he pulled his pen from the pocket of his white coat, moving a little closer to the two women.

"Fine, Morris; why?" Neela sounded almost suspicious, for some reason, casting a wary glance in his direction.

"Just curious," he said. "Ray's not going crazy yet then, huh?" He smiled, adding a little chuckle at the idea of the male intern trying to sit still for more than five minutes… and failing miserably.

Abby offered him something of a glare, and he was rather taken aback at the sight of it. She moved out from behind the desk, and towards the exit, mumbling a hasty, "See you later," as she went. Neela turned her eyes to the redheaded doctor almost reproachfully.

"What'd I say?" he asked, shrugging in confusion. Neela sighed, rolled her eyes, and then headed for the door as well in pursuit of the other woman. "It was a joke!"

_Some people just have no sense of humour…_

* * *

"Abby, wait!"

Neela took to jogging, checking there was no ambulances coming into the bay before she quickened her pace. The other woman didn't stop, and Neela only managed to catch up with her as she was headed toward the EL. "_Wait_," she urged, taking Abby by the arm as she matched pace. "What just happened?"

For a while, Abby didn't talk, or _do_ anything. She sighed heavily, reached up to tuck a strand of rebellious hair behind her ear despite the Chicago breeze, and then looked at her friend.

"Abby… what's wrong?" Neela knew she was frowning, and quite deeply at that. Something wasn't right here, and she knew she wouldn't be able to relax until she figured out, or was told, exactly what was going on.

"It's nothing…"

"And that's a lie," she contradicted, trying not to sound too blunt. "Come on, back there… up in Ray's room… with Morris. What's going on?"

"It's fine, Neela, really."

"No it's not." She would have laughed if she hadn't been so concerned; even frustrated. "And stop saying everything's 'fine'." Abby had kept saying it, since walking into the hospital a couple of hours ago. In fact, Ray had said the same thing… she found herself wondering if Sam would give an identical response to any inquiry after her well-being or state of mind.

Abby looked at the other resident, and was silent for a time. It was clear in her gaze that she was trying to form an appropriate response, and wasn't having much luck. "And why shouldn't I say it?" she finally responded, shrugging under her jacket. Neela almost envied her for the extra warmth.

"Because it's not true."

"How do you know that?"

Neela had been waiting for the challenge; in fact, she would have been a little worried if it hadn't come back at her like that. "Because I'm not an idiot. I've worked with you for months now… Ray too. Nothing's 'fine'. Far from it…"

"Can you blame me?" Abby screwed her eyes shut. "_Him_."

Releasing Abby's arm, Neela sighed, and contemplated how to continue. Could she really press this matter? Did she really have the right? After all, she had never been through something like Abby, Ray and Sam had, and quite honestly, was thankful for that. In her mind, no one should ever have to endure something so terrifying and life-threatening, and three of her friends — or people she certainly considered friends — had suffered through it; one of them had almost _died_. She had no idea how that felt… how _they_ felt, and couldn't even begin to assume.

"He'll be okay," Neela found herself saying before too long, not entirely sure she believed it for herself once the words had escaped her mouth.

Abby met her gaze, weary and even melancholy. "Will he?" It was almost another challenge, but this time, Neela didn't take it; simply waited for the continuation. "How do we know that? You saw him up there… it wasn't him. It wasn't _Ray_." She had briefly gestured in the rough direction of the recovery ward, where they had visited their fellow resident, but her eyes didn't leave Neela's. "Quiet, unresponsive… way too thoughtful." It wasn't a joke, and Neela didn't want to laugh anyway. None of this was funny. "And you didn't see him after he woke up, when he realised he wouldn't be back to work for weeks." Abby finally quieted, and sighed, shuffling her weight on her feet a little, as if awkward after her 'rant'. "We don't know how he's really taking it, and he won't let us ask."

"And it bothers you…" Neela wasn't questioning that. It was perfectly natural to worry about something like that.

"Yes! Of course it does. He nearly die— he _did_ die, for a minute." Abby's voice quieted. "And I think he knows it, too."

Neela's eyes narrowed. "Knows what?"

"That he… that his heart stopped beating. He knew, somehow, when Dr. Langley and I were talking to him, and we hadn't said anything about it. That's _scary_, Neela, it has to be. Imagine waking up and knowing you'd died, if only for a minute?" She paused. "How would you feel?"

Considering her answer carefully, Neela chewed on her bottom lip for a while. No matter how she answered this, it would probably sound wrong, she realised. "I'd… feel lucky."

Abby sighed. "Well maybe he doesn't see it that way. Maybe…" Her voice trailed off, and her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. "I don't know. I don't know what's going on in his head, and that bugs me, and I can't ask him, because he won't tell me… and _that_ bugs me!" Her frustration was giving way to an obvious weariness, and Neela frowned.

"You should go home," she prompted quietly. "Get some rest. You're still exhausted, and coming back here for hours at a time and sitting there with him when he's like that… it's not helping."

Another sigh spilled out of the older woman. "But we can't leave him on his own."

"Maybe…" Neela began pensively. "Maybe he needs to be on his own for a while." She shifted her weight. "To think things through; figure out how he feels. If you give him the time, maybe he'll talk to you about it when you ask, next time you visit him."

Apparently turning this option over in her head, Abby glanced across the street, quiet. When she finally looked back to Neela, the younger resident could see the agreement there, even before Abby nodded her head. "All right…"

"Give him some time," Neela added, perhaps unnecessarily. "I'll drop by to check on him again before the end of my shift, to make sure he's okay." Hesitantly at first, she laid a hand on her friend's arm. "Ray's stubborn. He'll be okay."

It provoked a faint, but real smile from Abby, and that comforted Neela, who returned the expression. Before long, she was watching the other tired doctor continue on her way to the EL, steps heavy with tiredness but no longer so frustrated. Unsure as to whether or not she had really helped, Neela turned and headed back to work, jogging when she got to the bay to keep up with the ambulance that was pulling in, lights flashing.

* * *

The head of his bed was still propped up, as if he wanted to keep focused on something, but the television up on the wall was switched off, and the remote was off to the side, ignored. Ray didn't much feel like watching television, and it was probably obvious, just by looking at him, as he lay there. He was partly slouched, even for someone lying in a hospital bed, and his shoulders were slumped as if in exhaustion; he was pale and his eyes looked tired; his hair was lifeless as opposed to the normal spike it held, hanging down above his eyes and temples; whenever he wasn't looking around the room wearily, he was staring at the end of the bed. Subconsciously, he listened to the beeping of the heart monitor, and then looked up at the IV he was connected to, sighing lightly so as not to aggravate the wound in his side.

It would heal, he reminded himself again, having lost count of how many times he had said as much, or even thought as much. It would heal, but it would take _time_… time he wasn't used to spending off his feet, or feeling helpless. He had given up on feeling helpless a long time ago, and to be thrown back into that state without any say in the matter bothered him more than it really should have.

He remembered Dr. Langley asking if his family's number was anywhere in the hospital staff records, to which Ray had simply shook his head. When prompted for it, he hadn't responded, and after that, the woman had taken the hint, and left. Not only did he not want his family — what little of it he was in contact with — near him when he was like this, but given that he wasn't originally from Chicago, or anywhere near it in the United States, he seriously doubted anyone would come… even if he'd wanted them to. Thankfully, no one had asked why that was. He didn't feel like sharing. He didn't even feel like thinking about it and depressing himself even more.

Lying there, half-propped up by the angle in the bed, he wondered what had been done with Atkin's body. Had anyone been contacted to claim it? And if not, then what had happened with it? He knew, under normal circumstances, that if absolutely no one could be found to claim the body, then it would be cremated, but he couldn't help but wonder, for some reason, whether the situation would change that 'ritual'. Ray recalled the brief police visit, and how pointless it had really been. The questions had been completely unnecessary, and Ray had come very close to asking them to leave, before a nurse had noticed his frustration and done it for him. He remembered her name was Laura, though he had only seen her once or twice since; not enough to really make remembering her name useful.

He had refrained from asking how long it would be before he was released from recovery… how long it would be before he could go home. To his dismal, little apartment above that takeout that always stank the place out somehow. Sighing, he wondered if he really _wanted_ to go back to his apartment. Before the chaos of a few days ago, he had been in the process of looking for a new apartment, but he could hardly do that now, could he? Even after he was released, apartment hunting wasn't an ideal way to spend time when you were meant to be recovering from a gunshot wound.

Ray dropped his head back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling silently, mind blank, save for one thing…

There was something he needed to tell Sam.

_**To Be Continued…**_


End file.
